


Candyfloss

by FungusWitch



Category: Bleach
Genre: All the SFW scenarios from my blog, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Reader-Insert, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 44,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FungusWitch/pseuds/FungusWitch
Summary: Sweet, light, fluffy. Small drabbles and fluff shorts between the reader and various characters from Bleach.





	1. Chapter 1

**Soifon/Reader**

’____-chan, drink up!’ The order came along with the glug of more sake being poured into your cup. Followed by a hiccupy giggle. Matsumoto was already further gone than you. She always got drunk faster. Something about her metabolism. 'Come on. It’s no fun if I’m the only drunk one.’

You snorted. 'Is that how you get Shuuhei and Izuru to strip down for you all the time? It’s not my fault you’re a lightweight.’

'I’m not a lightweight!’ Rangiku objected, waving her sake cup to illustrate her point. She slopped the liquor all down her wrist. Pouting, she started to lick the spillage off her hand and arm. Conversation at every table near to yours quietened, leaving a dead silence as every male pair of eyes fixated on Rangiku’s tongue.

You rolled your eyes. 'Try not to give everyone a show, Rangiku.’

She blinked in docile confusion, turned her head and looked around. Her eyebrow crooked up. 'Not my fault they’re perverts-’ Her eyes fixated on something over your shoulder. 'Uh-oh.’

A prickle ran up your spine. A premonition of danger, a familiar reiatsu. You picked up your sake cup and drank it one go. You might need a little Dutch courage if your instincts were correct. There was only one thing that could make Rangiku quail, even a little bit. You looked over your shoulder.

Bingo.

Pissed-off Soifon was a dangerous Soifon. You scrambled to think of what you could possibly have done to set her off. Had you neglected the division’s training schedules? Or forgotten to do some crucial piece of paperwork? No, even in your half-drunken state, you were sure you’d done everything you were supposed to do and more. Maybe it wasn’t your fault and Omaeda had fucked up. Again.

You waved her over. Better get it over and done with. When she was done ranting at you, she might be amenable to being cheered up-

'What the hell do you think you’re doing, ____?’ she demanded, arms folded, her braids bristling like an angry cat’s tail. 'Getting drunk with your…friend.’ The look she gave Rangiku was ice-cold. 'Does your taicho run such a slack operation, Matsumoto-fukutaicho?’

'Soifon,’ you started, raising a placating hand, 'it’s after work-hours. We haven’t had much to drink, at any rate.’ You glanced at Rangiku. _Well, one of us hasn’t._ 'Did you get back early?’ You hadn’t expected her back from her mission until the early hours of the morning. 

'What do you think?’ Soifon snapped. 

You sighed. 'I’m glad. I missed you.’

The fire in her eyes flickered, faltered. 'Not enough to stay home and wait for me, of course. You’d rather go drinking with your layabout friend.’

Matsumoto snorted. ’D'you know how long it took me to drag her out for a drink, taicho? She’s been moping all week.’

You gave Rangiku a sharp _shut-up_ look. 'Look, let’s go home. I’ll-’

'Really? What were you moping for, idiot?’ Soifon muttered. She dropped into the booth, pulling your cup and the sake bottle toward her. 'Did you think I’d fail?’

'No, she just can’t function without you around,’ Rangiku pointed out, sniggering at your pissed-off expression. 'It’s kind of pathetic.’

Soifon looked at you from the corner of her eye. 'Well, that’s just absurd,’ she said, sipping delicately from your cup. 'I didn’t think you were such a weakling.’ Her lip twitched at the corner. She drained your cup and put it down with a decisive clink. 'Don’t drink too much, fukutaicho. ____, we’re going home.’

'I…alright,’ you shrugged, at a loss for what was happening here. 'See you soon, Rangiku.' 

Your friend gave you a knowing smile and a lazy wave as Soifon took you by the arm and pulled you from the bar. As soon as cool air hit your face, the world tilted on its axis and you found yourself pushed up against a cool plaster wall. You looked up. The edge of the second division barracks.

'Did you just _shunpo-mmf_!’

Warm lips and a firm female body pressed up against yours, pinning you between her and the wall. She tasted faintly of sake. Her hands crept into your hair, teeth nipping at your lower lip. Before you’d really caught on to what was happening, she pulled away, eyes glowing in the night. 

'I missed you too, stupid.’


	2. Byakuya Kuchiki/Reader

He kept touching your arm. His laughter twined with yours to fill the garden with mirthful harmony. Your head tilted up to look at him, an easy, happy smile on your face. Full of light and life. He ruffled your hair with a big hand, earning himself a squeak of protest and playful, slapping hands as you desperately tried to tidy your appearance.

Byakuya’s fingers tightened, almost clenching into a fist before he stopped himself. His slate-grey eyes looked past the throngs of his sixth division members. They vied nervously for his attention, but he was in no mind to give it. Perhaps it was beneath him, but he couldn’t drag his attention from the young pair standing underneath the sakura tree.

One, a young woman in a formal kimono, lovely of face and voice and temper. The other a tall young man, rough and ribald and red-haired. Of course you were friends. It was only natural that you’d formed a deep friendship with his fukutaicho. But did Abarai have to keep touching you?

The boy probably didn’t even notice what he was doing. How it might look to others. How it might look to his taicho.

Byakuya’s teeth clenched. He felt the imperceptible twitch of a muscle in his jaw. He took a step forward, and the shinigami around him parted like the Red Sea. The cold expression he wore was more than enough to have his subordinates shrinking away. He might have opened his mansion grounds for a garden party, but no-one forgot who or what he was.

He missed the snort Rukia muffled in her sleeve. Could her aniki be any more obvious?

Byakuya loomed behind Renji like a pillar of ice. The fukutaicho’s grin cracked and dropped away like a mask. He turned his head slowly, sweat beading on his forehead.

‘Taicho?’ he asked tentatively.

You fought down a smirk. You weren’t dense. You’d noticed the unwavering stare from across the lawn, but decided not to indulge him. Now that he’d decided to play his hand, however, there was no need to let him take it out on poor Renji. Your friend was a bit of a dolt when it came to his taicho. You decided to intervene.

‘Byakuya,’ you said, stepping around Renji and laying a hand on your lover’s arm. 'Shall we get some punch?’

That frosty expression melted entirely as he turned his head and looked down at you. You smiled, barely holding in a giggle at how predictable Kuchiki-taicho was. Out of sight of the others, you twined your fingers into his, and lowered your voice. 'He was just keeping me company while you were talking to your men.’

'I do not know what you’re talking about, ____.’ His voice was stiff, even though his fingers flexed around yours.

Amusement made your lips twitch. 'My mistake. Would you be kind enough to escort me to the drinks table?’

He nodded serenely. 'Of course.’ He took your hand and laid it on his elbow, leading you away from a severely baffled Renji.

You turned your head and grinned at Rukia. _Men._


	3. Muguruma Kensei/Reader

The blender in the barrack kitchens was broken. _Again_. You stared at the half-pulped mush sitting at the bottom of the blender’s plastic cup, tamping down an angry mutter. It was brown, thick and gooey, and had gummed up the rotor-blades beyond repair. Useless. You pulled the plug from the wall and dumped the whole thing in the bin. The fruit stacked on the counter stared back at you, pointless now. Sweat stuck your hair to your forehead and the back of your neck, trickled down your spine beneath your workout sweats.

All you wanted was a damn smoothie. Now you’d have to either scrounge one from another division or send Shuhei with a shopping list next time he went to the World of the Living. You knew who the culprit was, too. Mashiro. No doubt she’d tried to make some bean curd monstrosity a la Orihime Inoue and run away without cleaning up the mess.

You snatched two bottles of water from the fridge and stomped out of the kitchen.

Weights clanked from the room across the courtyard. It was boiling out, cicadas buzzing in the background, shinigami wilting in the shadiest areas of the barracks. You stretched in the full heat of the sun, already feeling the strain of overused muscles. You’d be hurting pretty good tomorrow.

Ducking through the door to the weights room, you took a moment to admire the sprawled form of Muguruma-taicho, lying on the bench press. He hadn’t noticed you just yet, so you didn’t bother to hide your lascivious expression. Sweat glistened on his bare arms and chest, glinting in the dips where muscles ran together. His arms strained upward, pushing up a heavily-loaded barbell, biceps bulging.

‘Mashiro fucked up the blender. No smoothies, I’m afraid.’

A grunt, and the barbell was dumped back on its supports. He slid down the bench and sat up, wearing a thunderous expression. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ He ran a hand through his hair, shoving it back off his forehead.

‘I wish,’ you sighed, holding out a bottle of water.

He took it, swiping his forearm across his face. ‘Thanks, babe. We had that thing for two fucking weeks. I’m gonna kill her.’’

You took a swig of water, listening to his grumbling. Of their own accord, your gaze tracked down his chest to that 69 tattoo. Oh, how well you knew the other meaning of that tattoo. He realised you weren’t paying full attention.

‘Oi, how much do you weigh?’

The non-sequitur derailed your train of thought. Probably a good thing, since it was Destination: Gutter. ‘Pardon?’

He jerked his thumb at the barbell behind him. ‘That’s 100lb. I’m waiting for more weights to come in, and that shit’s too easy.’

You snorted. ‘I’m more than 100lb. What are you gonna do, bench-press me?’

He gave a sharp grin. ‘Got it in one.’

You blinked, swishing the water in your bottle from side to side. Your lips quirked at the corner in a bemused smirk. ‘You’re kidding me.’

He twisted the bottle open with a jerk, chugged half of it, wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. He put it down and dusted his hands together, rolling his shoulders. ‘Get over here.’

You took a step back, alarm flickering in your nervous system. ‘What? No…’

His grin turned demonic. ‘C’mere, baby.’

‘Kensei, stop messing around,’ you said nervously. He got up. You backed up, holding out your hands to fend him off. He towered over you as he took another smirking step in your direction. ‘Don’t even _think_ about it.’

‘Too late.’ Large hands snagged you effortlessly around the waist, hauling you forward to the weights bench. 'You’re the one who wanted to help with my workout.’ He plonked you down on his lap. He countermanded your brief, short struggle to get out of his grasp, and got his hands underneath you. One between your shoulderblades, one on the back of your thigh. 'Keep your back straight,’ he ordered.

You gave a long-suffering sigh. He always got his way, one way or another. Especially when he called you 'baby’. Those two syllables out of his mouth was usually enough to reduce you to mush, and he knew it. As soon as you got in the door, you went from being everyone’s ’____-san’ to his 'babe’. You folded your arms across your chest and sighed again.

'Want me to keep count?’ you asked in a tone of deep sarcasm, only to be followed by a yelp as he hoisted you into the air. 'Are your arms shaking?’ you asked, voice rising in alarm. If he dropped you, you were going to kick his ass. Or try to, anyway.

'Calm down,’ he grunted. Two more ups and downs, and then your support vanished completely. You shrieked, only to be caught by a pair of burly arms. He sat up, dumping you back into his lap. Your face automatically arranged itself into a scowl. He smirked at your petulant expression. 'You complain too much to be a barbell. I’ll have to wait for that order to come in, huh?’

’ _Jerk_ ,’ you said emphatically, about to slide off his lap. His arm around your waist stopped you. A calloused hand grasped your chin and turned your face up to him. He wore an expression of barely-veiled amusement. ’ _Smug_ jerk,’ you added in outrage.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he scoffed, lowering his mouth to yours.


	4. Ukitake Jushiro/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MARRY ME, JUSHIRO

You paused with your fist raised to knock on the door. It felt as though your heart was pushing up into your throat, making it difficult to breathe. You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the urge to turn around and run back to your quarters. If your shaking legs could carry you that far. Your hand began to lower, but you caught yourself, tapping your knuckles against the edge of the door frame before you could talk yourself out of it again.

Months. _Months_ of convincing yourself to go through with it. To spit it out, for better or for worse. You held your breath, forcing your hands down by your sides to prevent yourself from knocking again. It wouldn't look good, pounding down his door.

'Come in,' came the warm baritone.

Your pulse jumped at the sound. Hesitant, you pushed open the sliding door a couple of scant inches. Just enough to peek inside. He was at his desk, leaning over a report, pen held in his paused hand. His eyebrows rose at the sight of you hovering in his office doorway. He smiled reflexively, setting down his pen.

'Hello, ____-san,' he said, sounding sincerely pleased to see you. 'Why don't you come in?'

Oh. Right. You were still hovering in the doorway, struck dumb by the sight of him. You wanted to be calm and elegant, self-assured and serene, like your taicho. Instead you felt like a nervous schoolgirl, skulking in the classroom of her favourite teacher. Which was ridiculous. The age difference wasn't all that much in terms of shinigami years- He was still looking at you. _Oops._

You managed a halting smile and went in, closing the door behind you. He invited you to sit, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. You took it, grateful for the ability to take the weight off your weak knees, even if it put you directly in his line of sight.

'Did Retsu-san send you? Don’t worry, I'm feeling fine today.' He paused at the mute shaking of your head. Your taicho hadn't sent you. You had no right to be visiting him uninvited, especially since you weren't one of his subordinates. You were just his medic, and probably wasting his vaulable time. He frowned gently. 'Are you alright, ____-san?'

'I...yes! I'm fine!' you said, too brightly, fingers knotting together in your lap. _Kami_ , but you could barely look at him. 'I'm sorry for coming by uninvited, but there's something I need to talk to you about.' Damn, you were proud of yourself for getting out that full sentence without stuttering.

'Don't be silly,' he said, setting his report out of the way. His voice was full of concern. 'You're always welcome. What do you need to talk about?'

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a minute when you made the mistake of looking right at him. Right at his thin, handsome face framed by salt-white hair, right into bright brown eyes. The words died in your throat before they could make more than a croak. You stared at him in silence, blinking and helpless as a rabbit in headlights. Blood rushed to your face, setting your cheeks and ears on fire.

He looked at you, patient but bemused. After a long, awkward silence, Ukitake stood and went to a table by the window. China clinked, and there was the _glug_ of liquid. He turned back to you, holding out a cup. Tea. Jasmine. 'It's still warm,' he said in soothing tones, pressing the cup into your hands. 'Drink.'

You tried not to flinch when his fingertips brushed against yours as he let go of the cup. The skin tingled. Moving on autopilot, you took a sip of tea. Jasmine, sweetened with honey. Your favourite. Though it must just be a coincidence, the familiarity boldened you. You drank half the cup to wet your throat, holding it between your hands to keep them still.

'Thank you.'

'It's no trouble,' said Ukitake as he sat back down.

Enough was enough. Not only were you wasting his time, you were worrying him when he had no real need to be concerned. This was your issue, not his. You forced your hands to relax around the cup, and said, 'I shouldn't be your medic any more.'

Silence. Then, 'I'm sorry? I'm not sure I understand.'

 _Shit_. 'I...I can't be your medic any more, Ukitake-taicho. There is...there is a conflict of interest.' He still looked puzzled. 'I'm supposed to remain professional, but...' A deep breath. You flushed a deep red, staring at his chin, rather than his face. God, you couldn't meet his eyes right now. It'd be a relief if the ground could open up and swallow you whole. Alas, it remained solid. 'The way I feel about you is not professional.'

You dared look at his face. His eyes were wide, white showing around the honey brown, his lips parted as words died on them. His lack of immediate reacton gave you courage. You gave him a sweet, sheepish smile. 'I like you. Very much.'

He frowned, his expression growing pensive. There was a long silence as he absorbed your words. Your stomach dropped, the first hint of panic curling in your gut. _Shit, shit, shit_ , you'd ruined everything­- 'Even though I'm ill?' he asked. 'You've seen the worst of my condition, and you still...?'

Surprised, you stuttered out, 'Of course!' How could he think his illness would put you off? You were a medic. You'd seen the worst of it, seen much worse than his lung condition. Blood and gore were part of your everyday routine. Besides, you weren't going to let it stand in your way. 

He tilted his head, white hair spilling over his shoulder. His cheeks turned a few shades redder, and he braced his chin on his hand, gazing at you. You waited with baited breath. He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. You struggled to breathe through happy apprehension, so light-headed it felt like you were about to drift up through the ceiling. A thousand butterflies hatched in your stomach and danced.

'In that case, perhaps you'd be so kind as to join me for dinner tonight?' His voice was a warm thrum through your chest.

Your smile was brilliant. 'I'd love to.'


	5. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Reader

He was going to be _such_ a pain in the ass. You thumbed through your paperback novel, not really focusing on the pages. Your foot jogged up and down with your poorly repressed anxiety. There were few things your boyfriend hated as much as being vulnerable, especially to someone he considered weaker than himself. So naturally, going to the dentist and letting a human poke around in his mouth was going to piss him off to no end.

Not that he had a choice, unless he wanted a big whistling gap in his front teeth. It was his own fault. He should have seen that right hook coming from that big bastard of an Arrancar. He’d taken his opponent down, then spent three hours searching, bloody-mouthed, through the dirt for his lost tooth.

And come home enraged that jamming it back against his gums hadn’t done the trick.

‘Fucking what?!’ had been his reaction when you’d patiently explained the concept of a dentist. He’d flat-out refused. There’d been a tense stand-off between you and him and a bottle of super-glue. Somehow you’d convinced him that ‘this sticky shit’ wasn’t the right tool to repair his feral grin.

Oddly, he was much less intimidating with air whistling between the gap in his teeth with every growl. Not that you told _him_ that.

The tipping point was showing him the metal crown on your own molar. He’d been impressed by that flash of silver in the back of your mouth. Metal teeth were cool, apparently. You’d refrained from telling him that he probably wouldn’t need a crown for his incisor, just some cement. If it made him willing to go to the damn dentist, you’d let him think he was getting a mouthful of titanium fangs.

Storming footsteps.

You sat up abruptly, the book slipping unnoticed from your fingers. You were half out of your seat when the front door slammed open so hard it hit the wall and rebounded. An angry former-Espada filled the doorway, radiating lethal intent. You stared at his mouth, waiting for the bad news. Had they not been able to fix it?

'Da fuck’re you look'n at?’ he demanded. Or tried to. There was something wrong with his lips. They barely moved when he spoke.

Oh. His mouth was numb. Your eyes flared wide-open, a ripple running through your torso which you clamped down on hard. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

'Hey, how’d it go?’ you asked, your voice admirably calm.

He gave you a sullen glare and stalked right past you, dropping onto the couch. It was the closest he could get to his usual snarl. He looked somehow more sinister without his teeth bared. Cold and calculating. You repressed a shiver at _that_ thought. You liked your grouchy hothead without him turning into an Ulquiorra-Aizen hybrid.

'Dentists suck,’ you said lightly, wincing as he pulled your book from underneath him and chucked it onto the coffee table, cracking the spine. How your possessions survived him was a mystery. You sighed and shut the door. _I hope he didn’t kill the dentist._ 'Can I get you something?’

He stopped prodding his lips and scowled. “M star'fn.’ _I’m starving._

You hesitated. 'I’m not sure if eating…’

The glare he sent you was enough to send you scurrying to the kitchen. You needed to get out of the same room as him, anyway. You shut the kitchen door, turned on the tap, and doubled over in harsh, silent laughter. _His fucking face_. He sounded like he was speaking through a pair of fish lips. You reached out blindly and caught yourself on the wooden counter, laughing so hard, still in complete silence, that your breath started to wheeze through your throat. _Oh, god_ , you were never going to forget this for as long as you lived.

Which wouldn’t be long if he caught you pissing yourself laughing at him. You took a deep breath, coughed to cover a couple of chuckles, and straightened up.

'Whaz takin’ so lon’?’ he demanded through the door.

 _Shit._ That did it. You covered your mouth, eyes popping wide as hysterical giggles racked your body. You were going to split a rib if he didn’t stop talking. You opened the fridge and slammed the door so he wouldn’t come looking to see what you were up to. You laughed until it hurt, caught your breath, wiped your streaming eyes, and slapped together a quick snack he wouldn’t need to chew: soup.

'Whaz dis shit?’ he asked when you put it down in front of him.

'Food,’ you said, folding your arms. Your face was once again neutral. No sign of your mini-breakdown in the kitchen. 'Look, until you get the feeling back, you might end up biting your own tongue off if you chew. It’s chicken-flavour. I’ll make you something more substantial as soon as you’re back to normal.’

He stared at the soup in disgust.

'We’ll get Korean barbecue later?’ you offered.

He picked up the bowl, sniffed it. Grudgingly, and without a word of thanks, he took the spoon and took a mouthful. Half of it splattered down his chin. You bit the inside of your cheek to muffle a snicker. He put the bowl down in outrage, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

'Can’ efen fuck'n tase it,’ he groused.

You sighed. 'It’ll still fill your stomach, babe.’ He didn’t answer, too busy wiping his mouth like he wasn’t sure he’d got it all. If he was going to act like a baby, you supposed you’d have to treat him like one, sugar-coating everything. You leaned down, putting your hands on his thighs. His attention snapped to you. You gave him a sultry grin. 'Or you could let _me_ feed you,’ you purred.

His eyes flashed, blue, electric. You slid onto his lap, running your hands up his chest, over his broad shoulders. Distract. Disarm. He narrowed his eyes at you, leaning back onto the couch cushions with reluctance. You wriggled into a more comfortable position, deliberately overdoing it. His stomach clenched, as you’d expected. He relaxed, indolent, gaze heated.

 _As long as he doesn’t speak.._.

You grabbed the bowl and spoon, and carefully transported some of the soup to his numb mouth. None of it spilled this time. He grabbed your wrist so he could lick the back of the spoon, eyes fixed on yours. A promise for later.

And that was how you spoon-fed a grumpy blue panther his chicken soup.


	6. Ukitake Jushiro/Reader

They say the Soul Society isn’t heaven, but maybe it is, just here. Right _here,_ in a quiet room with two warm arms wrapped snug around your waist, hands clasping your back, cradling you against him as though you’re the most precious thing on earth. Lips move against your neck, sweet and ticklish and pecking along under your jaw. Soft hair brushes your cheek, trails against your wrists as you reach up to hold the back of his head. It’s silky and slides between your fingers.

You tilt your head toward him, offering him more of you to play with. He takes you up on it. His lips brush your earlobe, then up, over the shell of your ear. A sly lick and a nibble. You gasp and his baritone chuckle thrums into your ear, curling up in your mind like whorls of smoke.

You turn your head to chide him, but a glimpse of dark eyebrows, quirked in amusement, and luminous brown eyes is all you see before he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut immediately, and a langourous warmth seeps through your body. You lean heavily against him, letting yourself be drawn into a labyrinth of kisses that you’re not sure you ever want to escape. Whatever his lung capacity, he can kiss for eons.

One of his hands slides up your back and into your hair, tousling it with his long fingers. Fine tendrils of nerves tingle across your scalp, down the back of your neck. Butterflies stir to life in your stomach, fluttering their wings. You touch his cheek and feel the working of his jaw as he moves his lips over yours. He tilts his head into the touch, his nose nudging your cheek as he does.

You’re hyper-aware of every small movement he makes. You catalogue them, add them all up, and he is still more than the sum of his parts. Eventually you give up the mathematics as a miracle of nature and sink further into his arms. He cinches his arm tighter around your waist. Your heart stutters. He always does that when he’s about to deepen the kiss, to open your mouth with his and give you that first tentative stroke of his tongue. Time will turn to honey, warm and slow and golden, and-

‘Taicho! I did the reports for the-’

'Shut up, Booger-queen, I did half of them-’

The door slams open just as Jushiro pulls away with a sigh of regret. He tucks your head under his chin. You shut your eyes, and are suddenly the picture of innocence, asleep in your lover’s lap.

'Oh!’ You can almost hear the embarrassment in Kiyone’s voice. 'I’m- I didn’t…’

’____-chan fell asleep,’ Jushiro lies smoothly. 'I was going to let her rest awhile before I woke her.’

And of course, they believe it.

'I’m so sorry, taicho!’ Kiyone whisper-shouts. You’re not certain she knows how to speak on a human level. At least she is trying. 'I -we- finished the reports.’ Something papery _thwap_ s on the desk. 'We’ll go now. Come _on_ , monkey-breath!’

The door rattles as his third-seats try, and fail, to close it quietly. You open your eyes and sit up. Jushiro sighs again, giving you a rueful smile.

'I’m sorry, my love.’

You grin and give him a quick peck on the cheek as you slide off his lap. 'It’s okay. That’s what I get for trying to steal your lunchbreak. Besides, I’ll see you at home.’ Your words carry the weight of a promise, as does the saucy wink you give him.

He huffs a laugh, and shakes his snowy head a little. 'I look forward to it, sweetheart.’

Despite the interrupted kiss, you still head back to work feeling like you’ve been to heaven and back.


	7. Shihoin Yoruichi/Reader

The last suds drained off the blue china plate. You stacked it in the drying rack with the rest. All dark blue, all with goldleaf patterns around the rim. Cups. Bowls. Plates. Fancy silver forks in a dozen different varieties of filigree. Yoruichi had a keen eye for the finer things in life, and a knack for getting what she wanted for the lowest price possible. You weren’t sure what she hunted better, mice, or bargains. She barely even taxed your meagre budget. Rare visitors to your apartment could hardly believe your quality of living based on the wages you earned at your day job.

Living with a shapeshifting former-noble former-shinigami did have interesting effects on your day to day life.

Drying your hands, you glanced out of the glass balcony doors. Between the buildings across the street, the sun was sinking, burning the sky red behind it. You’d had dinner alone, since Yoruichi was at the Urahara-shoten, doing goodness-knows-what. You never really asked. You didn’t want to get too involved in shinigami and Soul Society and all their drama.

You turned to put the tea-towel back on the rack, and looked back at the balcony. A black cat sat on the balcony wall.

Your face split into a habitual grin. ‘Yoruichi!’

You crossed the room and opened the door. The cat jumped down from the wall and stalked inside your apartment like it had every right to. Its head bunted against your ankle as it passed, and it purred.

It hopped up onto Yoruichi’s customary cushion. Purple, with silver tassels and embroidered moons. She’d got it from some auction months ago and declared it her cat-cushion. The cat padded it back and forth, rubbed its head against the plum silk, and settled into a purring puddle, limbs tucked under its torso.

'Yoruichi?’ you asked. You didn’t feel stupid talking to a cat. She was perfectly capable of replying. 'Long day? Do you want some milk?’

The cat fixed you with one golden eye. It said nothing.

You felt a niggle of doubt. 'Yoruichi?’

The cat gave you an opaque stare. Silence.

'Okay. Very funny. Do you want milk or not? Or I can call for some takeout.’

No reply.

You rolled your eyes at the childish game and went to get a dish from the cupboard. You poured a shallow measure of milk and went back to the sitting area. Setting the dish down on the coffee table beside the cat, you stood back, hands on hips. 'Well?’

The cat ignored the dish. Ignored you. It closed its eye, and tucked its head under its paw.

Your fists clenched. She liked to play with you, but only in light teasing, and surprise nudity. This was downright hurtful. 'I don’t care if you’ve had a bad day, Yoruichi. Ignoring me is just rude,’ you said sharply.

You picked up a book and threw yourself down on the opposite couch. All the soft cushions and rich throws underneath you, a veritable rainbow of jewel-bright colours and soft silks, pissed you off suddenly. She’d bought them, with your money, and now she was completely ignoring you when you were just trying to be a good partner. Damn it. You kicked them all off into a heap on the floor.

You couldn’t focus on your book. Your nerves were all jangled by her rude behaviour. You glared at the cat over the top of your book. 'I hope you know you’re sleeping on the couch tonight,’ you muttered. 'Don’t come pawing at me in the middle of the night. Metaphorically or otherwise.’

The cat didn’t seem to register your pronouncement of couch-bound doom.

Fury boiled through you. You stood up, tossing the book down. 'Hey, whatever’s going on at that shop, it’s no reason to take it out on me! I’m trying to make you feel better!’ You jabbed your finger at the sleeping cat. 'Stop ignoring me! I haven’t done anything to deserve this. All I’m asking for is a single hello and you’re just lying there-’

'Hey, who are you yelling at?’

The low female voice from behind you stopped your tirade like a crashed car. Automatically, you turned your head. Yoruichi stood behind you, carrying a bag of groceries in one arm, and a plastic shopping bag, stamped with the logo of the Urahara-shoten. Her golden eyes met yours, then moved down, following your accusatory finger, to the cat asleep on her cushion.

She raised an eyebrow. 'Replacing me already?’

'Y-Yoruichi…?’ you said weakly. Your head whipped back around to the cat. 'Then who…’

'An impostor.’ She dumped her bags into your arms and picked up the cat by the scruff of its neck. It hissed at her, tail lashing. 'I’m a little insulted that you mistook this mangy little stray for me.’

'I…I…’

'And you were giving it my milk?’ Yoruichi put her hand on her hip, smirking at you. 'And after I went grocery shopping too?’ She opened the balcony door and dumped the impostor cat outside. It hissed at her before it scampered over the wall, into the night. 'Make it up to me or I’ll tell everyone you were yelling at a cat.’

Face burning red, you put the bags down on the counter. 'F-fine,’ you muttered. 'I’ll get the feather stick.’

'Excellent,’ said a rich, male voice. A black cat sat on a pile of clothes. 'And the cat nip ball.’


	8. Madarame Ikkaku/Reader

You pressed the button on the electronic device. Immediately, a loud, thumping noise blasted from the small, powerful speakers. You stumbled back, hands over your ears. You scrambled to turn the little volume dial. The thumping noise turned into a low, background beat. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you poked your head out of the door to your room, looking down the hall. Empty. No-one else seemed to have noticed the small cacophony from your quarters. You shut the door tight. 

What you were about to do was so stupid, but Matsumoto had insisted you try it. You didn’t always take her advice, but where was the harm? And, she’d said, it was a great workout. More fun than running laps, at any rate. 

You were supposed to squat, put your feet wide apart and-

Your cheeks burned. World of the Living women really did this? Matsumoto had demonstrated for your benefit, but when she did it, it actually seemed kind of cool. Not graceful, but cool, assured, like she owned her body and knew how to use it.

Damn it, _you_  could have that kind of attitude too.

You stood with your feet and knees wide apart. Your thighs burned as you lowered yourself into a squat. The music was a low throb in the background. Now you just had to… You put your hands on your knees and bumped your hips back. 

Your ass jiggled like Matsumoto’s breasts.

You overbalanced, screeched, and fell. The tatami mats dug painfully into your knees. What hurt more was your pride. You swore and climbed to your feet, jerking your shihakusho straight. Stupid Matsumoto, stupid _twerking_. 

Even the word was stupid.

You stomped to the music player and cranked the volume back up. The pounding bass went along with your irritable mood. You were a shinigami. You fought Hollows every day. You were centuries old. You weren’t going to defeated by a _dance._

Same position as before, hands fisted on your thighs, you took a deep breath. You closed your eyes, and focused on the beat. It was loud, fast, powerful. Like a chorus of drums.

Your head bobbed in time it until you could feel your heart pulsing in sync. You shifted on the balls of your feet. This was like training. Feel the strength of your body, feel the-

You jerked your hips back, still feeling foolish. And again. Your feet turned in a bit, for better balance. 

A snort of disbelief left you, but you kept doing it. Your ass was bouncing like a pair of peaches in a bag, but you could feel the burn all along the backs of your thighs. You were going to have _killer_ legs.

The longer you did it, the more fun it became. 

Before long, you were doing exaggerated backward thrusts, shaking it for all you were worth, swinging your hips around like you were trying to throw an opponent off your back.

And then you incorporated steps.

Hand movements.

The music got faster.

Wild giggles flew from your lips, breathless with exertion, as you gyrated like a two-dollar stripper on rent day. You put both hands out in front of you and were just about to _really_  get into it-

‘Babe, what the fuck are you doing?’

You froze, ass out. 

‘Ikkaku…?’ you asked in a tiny, mortified voice.

You hadn’t even heard the door open.

He circled around you, looking you up and down. Then his face split into the widest, most evil grin you’d ever seen in your life. And you saw Hollow masks on a regular basis. 

‘What was that?’ he asked, his voice full of barely suppressed glee. 

‘A…a dance…’ you said, straightening. 

You turned to face him as crossed to drop onto the futon. He sprawled out. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

‘W-what?’ you stuttered. ‘I’m not…not with you here!’

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Looks like the kind of dance I’d like seeing. You get to see me dance all the time.’

‘That’s your damn lucky dance!’ you protested. ‘This is…’

‘I dunno. Looks pretty lucky to me!’

You flushed redder. ‘Damn it, shut up-’

‘Start dancing and I’ll shut up.’

 _Fucking jerk_. He was still wearing that stupid-ass grin and leering at you, and he’d only annoy you for the rest of the night if you didn’t just show him the stupid dance. After this, you’d never try anything Matsumoto suggested, ever again.

Not without locking your door, anyway.

Sighing, you turned, dropped low, and started working it.

‘So when are you gonna teach me?’ asked Ikkaku.

Wait. _What?_


	9. Muguruma Kensei/Reader

The cellophane crinkled between your nervous fingers. The hall was empty, which you could only count as a blessing, considering your current mission. It was a deadly one. Your target was intuitive, lethal, and grumpy. You rocked back on your heels, eyeing the closed office door. He was in there. You could feel his spiritual pressure, like a small maelstrom of heat and power on the other side of that slab of wood.

Your fingers twitched nervously on your burden, eyes wide and wary. Would he accept it? The scent was fresh and sweet. The colours perhaps a bit bright, but not outrageous. Your lips pursed. Would he laugh at you?

 _Probably not_. As much as you loved him, he wasn’t a man who laughed a whole lot. His quiet snorts and small smirks were enough for you. By now, you could read amusement or displeasure in the merest twitch of his pierced eyebrow. 

He was always good to you. Did his best not to be such a grouch, looked after you. Was it so crazy, what you’d done?

A goofy smile crossed your face, which you hid behind your gift, followed by a warm flush. Screw it, time to face up to it. You went to the door and knocked.

‘What.’ The rough enquiry made you balk a little. Shit, was he having a bad day? He’d be less indulgent on a bad day. You shifted the present down to your side. 

‘It’s just me, Kensei.’

A pause. ‘Hey. Come in.’ There was an audible change in the tone of his voice that lightened your spirits considerably. 

Pushing open the door, you stuck your head round. He was, as ever, at his desk, tackling a mountain of paperwork. Good. The office was the best place to do this. He wouldn’t take kindly to anyone else seeing the exchange. Manly pride, and all that.

He cocked an eyebrow at you. ‘What’s up?’

You slipped inside, practically vibrating with nervous excitement. You hid _it_  behind your back. Your smile was a little strained. ‘I just came by to...give you something.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re twitchy as hell.’

‘I...welll...’ Your face grew hot, and you knew you must be a deep shade of pink by now. You moved the present out in front of you, holding it a little awkwardly. ‘These are for you.’

It was a bouquet. A nice one. Very nice. You’d gone for the best. Daffodils in brilliant yellow, proud trumpets untouched by brown, and large, clean white daisies, their centres as gold as small suns. It was bright, cheerful, and full of meaning. The daffodils meant respect, the daisies, faith. 

You dropped your eyes, stuttering. ‘I-I know it’s normally the other way around, but I thought how much I like getting flowers, and no-one ever gets their man flowers...so how does the man know they wouldn’t like it? And I love you, so...’’ 

You held out the flowers, scrunching your eyes shut. ‘I hope you like them.’

There was long moment of silence. Then, a quiet creak of wood. A gentle tug, and the bouquet was taken from your hands. You dared open your eyes. He stood in front of you, the flowers held in one hand. He stared at them in bemusement. He opened his mouth to make a comment, but his eyes fell on your flushed, hopeful face. 

He gave a soft snort, then bent to give you a short kiss. You melted in delight, grinning like the lovestruck idiot you were. He pulled away to ruffle your hair.

‘Thanks, babe,’ he said, wry.

A pause.

‘I don’t have a vase for these things.’


	10. Hirako Shinji/Reader

You didn’t know why he tried, really. He was fighting a futile battle, and you certainly weren’t going to help him. 

A loud, obnoxious voice drifted from the front room, laced with rising annoyance. His accent was always so much harsher when he threw a tantrum. You lifted the rice off the burner and set it to one side. A small hand burrowed into yours as you crept to the doorway dividing the kitchen from the living room. Your daughter clung to your side, peering around your robe at the scene.

Shinji knelt in the middle of an ocean of LPs. His cravat was askew, teeth showing in a grimace. He gestured with a vinyl record. ‘Ya just don’ get it, do ya? I thought I’d raised ya better’n this!’

‘Dad...’ sighed the young boy on the couch. Kentaro had his legs tucked up under him, a book splayed open on his lap, and a resigned expression on his face. ‘I don’t like jazz.’

Shinji’s eyes widened, his eyebrows crashed together in fury. ‘Ya _what?’_

Kentaro sighed again, scratching at his short blond hair. He refused to get it cut in the same style as his father, despite Shinji’s attempts at persuasion. ‘I don’t like jazz.’

‘Ya...ya ungrateful little...What’ve I raised?’ Shinji put down the vinyl, running his fingers through his hair, agitated. ‘Ya don’t like it at _all_?’

‘Not even a little,’ said Kentaro, unfazed by his father’s distress. 

Shinji made a strangled noise and turned to the kitchen, unaware of his audience. ‘____-chan! This boy ain’t my son!’

You leaned away from the door, muffling your laughter against your sleeve. ‘Yes he is!’

‘No son of mine would hate jazz! My genetics wouldn’t let it happen! It’s in my damn DNA!’

‘Uh-huh, and that’s why you were born hundreds of years before jazz was invented.’

Your daughter, Seshiru, giggled into your sleeve. No-one took Shinji seriously, especially not your children. His temper was as fickle as a summer breeze, and about as harmful. 

‘This is serious, darlin’!’

You snorted, scooping up Seshiru and stepping into the living room. You had to pick your way over the vinyls to deposit her on the couch. Shinji turned his glare on her.

‘Shiru...you like jazz, don’t you, doll?’

Shiru looked at you, then back at her father.

She shook her head.

Shinji’s jaw dropped. ‘Damn traitors! All of ya!’ 

Shiru decided now was the time to pipe up with the new phrase she’d learned from Uncle Love a few days ago. ‘Daddy, you’re so lame!’

The light died in Shinji’s eyes. He sank slowly back onto his haunches, his eyes fixed on his daughter’s face, on the mouth that had said the words that rang inside his head like a death knell. He felt the cold touch the underworld pulling at his soul-chain. He paled.

His voice came out as a hoarse croak. ‘ _L-lame_?’ he whispered.

‘Lame!’ Seshiru repeated, happy that her father had understood her.

Shinji turned his stricken face to you, pointing a bony, accusatory finger at your youngest child. ‘S-she called me _lame_.’

‘I heard,’ you said, fighting down a giggle. 

‘My own daughter...my heart...’ He pressed his hand against his chest. His voice was rough as he repeated. ‘ _Lame_...’

Shit. You had to get out of here before you laughed yourself sick. Shinji put Rose to shame for dramatics. You clapped your hands together briskly. ‘Kids, let’s go and make dinner while Daddy has his existential crisis.’

‘Okay!’ they chorused, bounding off the sofa and following you back into the kitchen, leaving Shinji a lonely island in his sea of vinyl. 

‘He really _is_ lame,’ said Kentaro in a whisper.

You nodded. ‘I know, darling, I know.’


	11. Kyoraku Shunsui/Reader

The sun had set over four hours ago and crisp, cold air drifted in from the garden. You could close the shoji, and the room would turn cosy in no time, but the chill was the only thing keeping you awake. The magazine on your lap certainly was _not_.

The _Seireitei Communication_ had its merits, but your husband's writing was not one of them. You only read his dire little romance series out of some twisted sense of loyalty.

And he'd sulk if you didn't.

The Rose-coloured Path was...not good. What it lacked in literary finesse, it tried to make up for in melodrama and steamy romance. It failed parlessly on both counts. You'd tried pointing these things out to Shunsui, but he took your opinion rather hard. It didn't matter that no-one else sent him fan letters, he wanted you to like it.

Oh, the sufferings of a wife.

You smiled wryly and tossed the magazine onto the low table, reclining further on the assortment of low cushions Shunsui favoured over a couch. _Better for relaxing with my love_ , he said. You might have to deal with his poor writing skills, laziness, and tendency to drink too much, but there were few downsides to being married to him.

You hid a yawn behind your hand, just as the front door opened.

_About time._

'Where's my little flower petal?' called a loud, cheerful voice down the hall. You rolled to your feet and opened the living room door. Shunsui caught sight of you and grinned. He tried to nudge off his waraji and stumbled. You frowned. He hadn't been drinking, surely? You'd smell it. 'What's that stern expression, my love?'

'Welcome home,' you said, distracted. You approached him just as he stepped out of the genkan onto the raised wooden floor. This close, you could see the glazed look of his grey eyes, the dark skin beneath. 'You look tired.'

He stuck out his bottom lip in a mock-pout, ridiculous on a man of his size and hairiness. 'Does my sweet petal not find me handsome anymore? Am I too old for her?'

You laughed out loud, reaching up to kiss his scruffy cheek. 'You're such an idiot. Come on, old man, time for bed.' You slung one of his arms over your shoulder, more inclined to be attentive and playful if he was just exhausted. He worked longer hours now, some of his former lassez-faire attitude gone with the promotion to Sotaicho. Still, he gave a happy mumble and leaned on you so that you both staggered to the bedroom.

'You still fancy me, then, ____-chan?'

'Of course,' you said, soothing his ego. And it was true. He was a big, goofy, handsome lech. 'Out of your shihakusho, then.'

'Trying to get me naked already?' he asked, grin wide as he untied his sash. There was no real intent behind it, not tonight. Flirty remarks and one-liners came out of him like breathing. He shrugged his clothes to the floor, where'd he'd trip over them in the morning. You let it go, eager to get to bed yourself. You reached over to yank at his hakama. He swatted you away, saying, 'You haven't even kissed me yet. I'm not some two-kan teahouse girl.'

'Oh, I'd pay at least five kan for you.' You stroked a finger under his chin, then pulled him down for a kiss. He leaned into it, prolonging something that might've been perfunctory into something with a little more warmth.

'I'm deeply flattered.' He plonked down at the end of the bed and pulled the pinwheel pins from his hair, followed by the bright blue hairtie. Brown waves spilled over his bare shoulders. He scratched at the back of his head and stretched, yawning hugely. He watched you slip out of your clothes and into a night robe with a sleepy, appreciative look, but his gaze sharpened when you picked up a hairbrush and advanced. '____-chan, what are you doing?'

'Your hair's full of tangles,' you said, climbing onto the bed behind him. 'Don't complain.'

Telling Shunsui not to complain about something was like telling a fish not to swim. So, he chose to complain about all the paperwork Nanao was forcing him to do instead. The move to Sotaicho meant there was a lot of paperwork his fukutaicho just didn't have the authority to oversee, so he had to do the dull parts of his job that much more often. You made sympathetic noises as you worked the brush through the ends of his hair.

It was soft, warm from lying against his back, and curled between your fingers. The soft rasp of the brush and his low, tired voice formed a pleasant, soporific harmony. You felt a content smile pull at your lips. Moments like this were what you enjoyed the most. Teasing the tangles out didn't take too long, but you kept going anyway.

You drew the brush from the roots down, pulling the bristles across his scalp. He gave a quiet grunt, head tilting back. You stopped. 'Sorry, Shun, did I hurt you?'

'Maa, no~' he mumbled, leaning back.

'Okay.' You kept brushing. His voice grew quieter, deeper, slower. His words slurred together. 'Shun?'

His chuckle was low. 'My little...cherry...blossom...hmm...' He toppled back into you, all 191 pounds of him. You gave an undignified squawk, and crawled out from underneath him. He'd fallen asleep. You gave him a glare, pointless, but it made you feel better. You gripped the hairbrush, half-intending to give him a swat on the ass with it.

Like some kind of heat-seeking missile, he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you into his wide chest. The happy little hum he made in his sleep was the thing that convinced you to stay there. You _were_ tired, and he _was_ warm...

You closed your eyes, the brush slipping from your nerveless fingers as you drifted off to sleep.


	12. Iba Tetsuzaemon/Reader

This was how you were going to spend your day off, and there was no-one around to judge you for it. You turned, admiring yourself in the full-length mirror. The quarters you shared with Tetsuzaemon were quiet, save for the quiet chirp of birds, muffled through the firmly-shut shoji and the rustle of heavy canvas across the floor when you moved.

You pushed the sunglasses up your nose -they kept falling down- and turned to the other side, sticking out your chest. 

How did those idiots from the Men’s Shinigami Association take themselves seriously wearing this stuff? Not that you’d ever say that in front of Iba. He was...sensitive about his masculinity. You’d never met someone who actively cultivated their manly attitude.

Some had it by nature, like Zaraki-taicho, others eschewed it completely, like Ayasegawa-san. Some were a weird kind of manly, like Kyoraku-taicho, with his hairy chest and floral kimono, or a quiet, reserved kind, like Ukitake-taicho. Iba was in a realm all his own. 

You loved him almost in spite of it.

Still, when he wasn’t around...

‘Those damned women!’ you barked, parroting what he always said about the WSA. ‘No respect!’ You flexed your biceps in the mirror, pulling a fierce frown. You looked, in a word, ridiculous. 

The tiny moustache you’d drawn on with your eyebrow pencil _really_  didn’t help. 

The wide brown belt around your waist kept slipping down, the long hakama dragged around your ankles, and the open kimono swamped you. You gave your reflection the finger-guns Iba had learned from god-knows-where (Chad, probably) and sighed. 

You took a damp cloth and wiped off the moustache, intending to fold the clothes and put them back so he’d never know. Your fingers hesitated on the belt. 

_To hell with it. One more flex._

Laughing at your own stupidity, you skidded back to the mirror and thrust your chest out. You bulged your biceps for good measure, though they were hidden by the large sleeves of the kimono. 

The shoji clattered open, bringing with it the low rumble of Tetsuzaemon’s grumbling. You whirled on the spot, eyes wide, pink spots of embarrassment appearing on your cheeks. Shit, shit, shit-

He stopped in his tracks. 

‘____-chan...?’

‘Tetsuzaemon-kun...’ you started, a nervous giggle burbling up your throat. Oh no. ‘You’re home early!’

‘I forgot my badge,’ he said, pointing to the stand beside the bed. Sure enough, his fukutaicho badge and sash sat pride of place next to the alarm clock. The digital numbers blinked in reproach. 09:27. You’d been so impatient to jump around in his clothes that you hadn’t even thought to leave a safe barrier of time. 

At least you’d wiped off the moustache. You felt a sinking horror at the thought of how much worse this would be if he’d come back thirty seconds earlier. 

‘Are those mine?’ he asked. He hooked a finger in the bridge of his glasses and pulled them down, dark brown eyes flickering over your attire. Something flashed there. ‘I don’t think they fit you, doll.’

Your face burned. ‘I just wanted to...try them.’

He nodded slowly, one eyebrow creeping up. ‘There are certain things you don’t do, ____-chan.’ His tone was serious. 

You were about to blurt out an apology, but he wasn’t finished.

‘If you’re going to wear sunglasses, you can’t just pick up any old pair. You need to consider your style, the shape of your face. It’s a serious business.’ He approached, plucking the glasses off your face. You blinked in the sudden, bright light. He tossed them on the bed. ‘I think taicho will give me the morning off to rectify this problem. We’re going to Gin Tonbo to get you properly fitted.’

He had your hand and was leading you out of the room before you could protest. You stumbled over the overlong hakama.

‘T-Tetsuzaemon, I need to change!’

He paused, looking you over again. ‘Oh, right.’

You breathed a sigh of relief and rushed toward the closet. Maybe you could smooth this whole thing over.

‘What were you doing when I came in, anyway?’

‘NOTHING.’


	13. Unohana Retsu/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hanakotoba, the Japanese language of flowers, forget-me-nots mean ‘true love’, and gardenias mean ‘secret love’. They make a pretty bouquet for a confession. The art of repairing broken crockery with gold is known as ‘kintsugi’.

The entire fourth division compound had a cool, vaguely floral smell. Like some rare flower that bloomed at the edge of hidden rock pools. It had undernotes of something chemical. Bleach. A faint reminder that this was a working hospital.

It reminded you of its taicho, Unohana. As pristine and mild as she appeared on the surface, she had an edge to her. A past that was whispered of, but never confirmed. The fact was, however, that she was the oldest of all the taicho, and everyone, even Kyoraku the sotaicho, stepped politely around her.

Which made what you were about to practically a suicide mission.

Sweat trickled down your back beneath your shihakusho, despite the crisp air of the division offices. You tugged your collar straight for the tenth time, wishing to your long-departed ancestors that there was a mirror so you could check your hair and your teeth. With your luck, there was probably a huge streak of ink across your cheek or something.

You'd worn your best, including a pretty pink obi, rather than the usual white sash. Rangiku always insisted that pink brought out your eyes. Your uniform was practically brand new, your hair brushed to a high shine. This morning, you'd been a wreck, even with Rangiku running you through the whole thing. Twice.

She was your wingwoman, your champion. _'You'll never know if you never ask!'_  Her motto rang in your ears as you crept down a the hallways. Nurses shot you curious glances, but their duties quickly pulled them away.

_She's usually in her office at this time, taking her afternoon tea._

Helpful information gained via Isane's sister. Kiyone didn't bother asking why you wanted to know, not once you bribed her with a copy of the Ukitake-taicho photobook, _Sickbed_. You'd nearly lost your hand when she grabbed it from you.

Everything was in place. You even had the small posy of flowers. Modest, carefully chosen.

But heat crept up your neck with every step closer to her office. You could feel that sweat collecting at the bottom of your spine. Your hands trembled where they locked around the ribbon-bound posy. Three doors down, you stopped.

This was stupid. She was never going to say yes.

You spun on your heel to leave, and stopped again.

If you didn't ask, you'd spend the rest of your long, long life wondering. And if someone else asked her, and she said yes, you would be spending that life in a self-made hell of regret.

_Soul-King-damn-it-all._

You turned again, completing your little pirouette of anxiety, and forced yourself the last few feet to her office door. Your stomach was going for a rollercoaster ride -what were humans _thinking_ \- and you were halfway between throwing up and fainting from all the blood rushing to your face. The fourth was an appropriate place to get sick and pass out, you supposed, but you'd really rather not do it in front of her.

You knocked. Then, worried it was too quiet, you knocked again, louder.

'Come in, ____-san.'

She knew it was you. Of course she did. The door slid open easily under your hand. Everything ran smoothly under Unohana-taicho's guidance. Except perhaps you.

'Do you have a moment, Unohana-taicho?' you asked, gaze fixed on the floor.

A light chuckle. You glanced up. Seated at a low table, with white-and-blue china tea things arrayed in front of her, Unohana looked every inch the picture of elegance. Her expression was mild, her smile welcoming. You felt something loosen in your chest, just a little. It gave you the courage to step over the threshold, and bring your small bouquet out in front where she might see it.

'Would you be so kind as to close the door?' she asked, simultaneously gesturing for you to sit down across from her. You did, and stumbled to a seat. She looked at your hands, clasped around the poor flower stems, and smiled. 'Perhaps it would be best if I pour the tea.'

'I...um, yes, taicho,' you said. As her inferior, you ought to pour, but perhaps she didn't want to risk her nice china in your clumsy hands. She poured you a cup of fragrant green tea and passed it across on a delicate saucer. 'Thank you. I...oh, uh, these...these are for you!'

You thrust the flowers out in front of you. 'F-f-from me.'

Unohana blinked once, then smiled. She reached to take small arrangement. 'Forget-me-knots, and gardenia.' Her violet-blue eyes gazed at you from beneath her lashes. A subtle gance, but it felt as penetrating as a Cero. 'You know what these mean, of course?'

'O-of course!' you said, voice rising to a high, breathy pitch. You attended her Ikebana class once a month with everyone else. Hanakotoba was second nature to you know, you'd been so eager to impress.

Her eyes closed and she smiled. 'How very sweet of you.'

Your face was so hot steam was about to come curling out of your ears as it did the spout of the teapot. You opened your mouth several times to speak, and came up with nothing but silence. Unohana filled the silence by locating a small vase. It was green glazed, with a single long crack running down one side, repaired with a seam of gold.

She was gently sprucing the blooms in their new home when you found the courage to speak.

'Would...w-would...you like to...'

She looked at you, the knowledge of what you wanted to ask already in her eyes, but she remained silent. You would have to say it out loud. Your mouth was dry, your tongue heavy. Dark spots danced on the edge of your vision.

'Would you l-like to have d-dinner with me, Unohana-taicho?'

She pressed a hand against her braid to keep it still, and lowered her head to smell the flowers. When she sat up again, she wore another smile. Sweeter, this time.

'I think that would be just lovely.'


	14. Hisagi Shuhei/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly nsfw.

The window-front of the shop was entirely blacked out. The only decoration was an ominous red sign that flickered on and off like one of Renji's faulty kido. The kanji for "Adults Only" buzzed up at him from behind the glass. He had a strange feeling in his gut, only increased by the uncharacteristic smirk curling the corners of your lips.

'What is this place?' Shuhei asked, his fingers twitching where they held yours. His gigai felt oddly heavy in the warm afternoon. It was humid. The streets were practically empty, save for a portly old man fanning himself with a newspaper under an awning, halfway down the street. The human wasn't paying either of you any attention. Cars drifted past, anonymous. Cicadas buzzed in the trees that lined the road. 'Babe?'

You turned to look at him, fingers tightening around his to forestall any attempted escape. 'Somewhere that Rangiku-chan told me about. She said I should bring you here.'

'R-Rangiku told you to?' he stuttered. That could not be good.

The glint in your eyes only confirmed it. 'Shall we go in?'

Hisagi glanced behind him, scanning the shadows for anyone else, any of your fellow shinigami to witness him going into such a dodgy place. Muguruma-taicho would probably slap him upside the head if he ever found out. But if it made you happy...

'Sure,' he said, shrugging a shoulder. After all, how bad could it be?

You went first, pushing open the opaque door. Hisagi followed, only to be hit by a blast of cool, sweet air. He glanced up, spotting a vent above his head. Well, now he was a little more eager to go inside whatever this weird shop was. The door closed behind him, an electronic bell bleeping to alert the hidden shopkeeper.

He glanced down to remark on the air-conditioning. Dicks. Dicks everywhere.

_What. The. Fuck._

Hisagi staggered back, dropping your hand in shock. His gaze tracked further around the shop. Whips. Chains. Handcuffs. Clamps for all sorts of things he didn't want to think about. More dicks. Things that didn't even look like dicks but he knew were dicks. Masks. Racks of magazines, flashing enormous-

The blood vessels in his nose contracted and expanded. Spots danced on the edge of his vision before a warm rush of blood spurted down his face.

'Shit. Shuhei!' Your voice rang in his ears as he wavered on his feet. He reached out a hand to steady himself, and felt something round and rubbery against his palm. Confused, a little dazed, he squeezed. Looking up, he saw his hand, clamped brazenly around the zeppelin-like breast of an inflatable doll. His eyes widened.

The world went dark.

He came to with you kneeling over him, fanning him with a swimsuit magazine. He hastily averted his eyes from the contents. There was a cool cloth on his forehead. He dreaded to think what it actually was.

A sex shop. You'd brought him to a sex shop.

 _Rangiku_ had told you to bring him to a sex shop. He stared up at your concerned, innocent-seeming face. You'd brought him to a _sex shop_. Blood rushed back to his cheeks, and elsewhere. His vision darkened for a second, but he shook it off, sitting up.

'Are you feeling better, Shuhei-kun?' you asked, your amusement barely hidden behind your concern. 'The owner brought some water for when you came round. I cleaned up your face.'

'I'm fine,' he said gruffly, despite feeling quite the opposite. '____-chan, why'd you bring me here?'

'Oh,' you said, a glint appearing in your eyes. 'Well, there's a lot of interesting things here. I thought we could have a look around, just for fun. And, maybe if we see something we like...' Your voice trailed off, laden with promises.

Hisagi felt his throat and his pants tighten. His gaze flickered to the walls. 'Like what?'

You got to your feet, helping up your flustered boyfriend. He wasn't looking so good, especially when he looked toward the heavy BDSM section of the shop. Obviously, you were going to have to ease him in.

'How about lingerie, to start?' He perked up immediately, and you smothered a laugh. 'There's some back here.'

With his hand in yours, leading him like a lost little lamb, you pushed through a curtain to the other side of the sex shop. Here, the light was softer, pinker. The owner was a little quirky, and liked to put the hardcore stuff up front, and hide the goofy couples’ junk behind a curtain, like _that_ was what you were supposed to be ashamed of. Shuhei looked around warily, and relaxed when he saw the cute lingerie hanging on the walls. His gaze settled on a row of shelves, all of which featured curiously shaped objects in various shapes, all in shades of pink and purple.

'What are those?'

'Vibrators,' you said, matter-of-fact.

He flushed, and wavered on his feet, then cleared his throat and turned back to you. 'So, lingerie?'

You reached out to the first thing that caught your eye. A corset and knickers set in black and lilac. You held it up to yourself, eyebrows raised. 'What do you think. Should I try it on?'

With a yelp, you ducked the spray of blood as Shuhei hit the ground with a thud.


	15. Ukitake Jushiro/Reader

The merest whisper of air, a tiny rattle of a paper wing, and the origami aeroplane nosedived into Jushiro’s back. He sat up straight, eyes widening. He’d been half-dozing in the warm afternoon. The shoji to the courtyard were open, and the sun against the back of his head had made him drift. He looked back over his shoulder.

The folded paper lay innocent and white against the tatami. He picked it up and turned it over, eyebrows knitting. _What on earth?_

He shot a quick look at the open doors. Were Kiyone and Sentaro out there? But they wouldn’t pull a silly joke like this on him, surely?

He blinked. He must be getting stupid from the heat. If he finished his paperwork early, perhaps he could spend the rest of the afternoon by the pond with the koi. Or visit Shunsui. Or even sweep his love from the jaws of duty and go out to dinner.

Putting the mystery of the paper plane behind him, and with the prospect of a pleasant evening spread out before him, he looked back at his desk.

His tea was frozen solid.

Jushiro stiffened, staring down at the lump of amber ice that had been his drink. He touched the cup. It was frozen to the wood. He twisted his wrist and the cup snapped free.

A quiet chuckle floated in from the courtyard, quickly muffled.

His expression smoothed. He set the cup down in its previous place, picked up his pen, and resumed paperwork as though nothing had happened. Behind his unruffled demeanour, he plotted. Two thousand years of tactics were hidden so easily behind a pleasant smile.

Hidden from view, his eyes gleamed.

Nothing happened for another ten minutes. He finished one report and started another. The hair on his arms and neck lifted under a sudden wave of reishi.

His pen stopped working. He stared at it, before unscrewing the top. Inside, the ink was a long tube of black ice. He put the pen aside, pulled out his brush and ink kit instead.

It soared out of his hands, out of the doors. He let it go without protest, a smile flickering over his face.

‘I see I am being haunted by elementals of wind and ice,’ he commented aloud, ‘who do not want to allow me to work. How can I pacify them?’

A light breeze skirled around him, tousling through his hair, tugging gently in the direction of the doors. Who was he to deny such a request? He got to his feet, and took a single, precise _step_.

You squealed as an arm wrapped around your waist and a pair of lips brushed your ear.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, my love?’

‘Jushiro!’

‘Where is Kuchiki-san?’ he asked, releasing you with a kiss on the temple. 

You turned around to see his amused, indulgent smile. Your lower lip pushed out into an automatic pout. He’d been supposed to step out so Rukia could freeze his feet to the deck and you could pop up and invite him to dinner in exchange for freedom. You’d been so careful, crouched on the veranda outside his office for a full half-an-hour, reiatsu concealed, shikai out.

‘Sneaky old man,’ you muttered, even as you ran a hand down his arm, culminating in your fingers twined through his. ‘Using flash-step is cheating.’

‘Hm, silly young thing,’ he retorted, bringing your hand up to kiss the backs of your fingers. You tried to ignore the urgent flutter in the bottom of your stomach. ‘Did you rope my fukutaicho into this little game?’

‘Yes. She’s hiding outside your office door.’

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘And what was your end goal?’

‘To take you out for dinner.’

He pulled you closer by your linked hands, leaning down. His eyes gleamed, his voice dropping into a low, throaty hum. Your stomach dropped further, mouth drying out as his thumb traced the swell of your lower lip. ‘We can still go out for dinner. We have a ceasefire to discuss, after all.’


	16. Sado Yasutora/Reader - Part One

If he were anything other than whatever the hell he was, Ichigo's feet would've have been bleeding lumps of flesh inside his tennis shoes. He wondered how Chad was still standing. The sun was already on its way down, and the streets were washed in streetlamp orange and neon. He stopped by a vending machine, kicking aside some trash.

'We've been to every jeweller's in Karakura Town,' he said to Chad, fumbling in his pocket for a couple hundred yen. 'Probably all of Tokyo. Hey, do you want a drink?'

Chad, hulking in his winter coat and green scarf, gave a non-committal grunt. He was too busy poring over that crumpled list again. At some point in time, he'd printed of a list of every jewellery store in the local area. From the state of it, it must have been in his pocket for weeks, folded and unfolded so many times that it was tearing in the creases.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated, but...that dumb list. Chad was hellbent on getting the perfect ring. Honestly, Ichigo had been surprised to be asked, but it was kind of cool, that he was the person Chad wanted help from.

He collected his carton of juice, and tossed the other to Chad. 'You didn't choose so you're stuck with peach juice.'

Chad caught it, looking up.

Ichigo stabbed the straw through the foil circle, gave a brief habitual smile at the memory of Rukia and her first juice-box, and sighed. 'One more store, okay? We can look again tomorrow.'

Chad put the juice in his pocket, along with the list. 'You're a good friend, Ichigo.'

'Yeah, whatever,' said Ichigo, embarrassed at the frank praise. 'Let's get going, before they close.'

The last jewellers was a narrow little shop, crammed between an internet cafe and a womenswear store. The windows were dusty. Ichigo could only just see the gleam of old gold through in the light of the streetlamps. The tiny, handwritten sign in the door had the kanji for 'Open' in shaky, spidery script. Ichigo sighed. This place was probably a waste of time.

'Let's get this over with,' he muttered, pushing open the door. A bell jangled above. He looked up. It was a proper, old-fashioned bell on a hook. Inside, the walls were covered with tiny glass-fronted cabinets and dressers full of tiny drawers, labelled in the same miniature kanji. The counter was empty, but rustling sounds emerged from the door to the back.

Chad immediately bent over the nearest glass counter, so low his nose nearly touched the surface. Ichigo gave the rings a casual glance. He had no clue what Chad was looking for, despite the request for help. What did he know about engagement rings?

His eyes caught a glimmer of green. The same green as Chad's scarf. Ichigo looked closer. A square, green stone, clamped into a thin silver ring, decorated in swirls. It was kinda pretty, he supposed.

'Hey, Chad, this one's not bad,' he called back over his shoulder.

Chad came to look. There was a moment of long silence. Then, 'Yeah, that one.'

Ichigo blinked. That was it? Hours on hours of deliberation, and suddenly, just that one. He shot an amused look at his friend, then shrugged. If they were done, they were done. Chad usually made a decision and stuck to it. Ichigo rang the little bell on the counter.

Something thudded in the back room, there was a loud stream of cursing, and then an old woman, wizened, with long white hair, shuffled out of the back. She peered up at them through rheumy eyes.

'What?'

Chad didn't seem to mind the rude demand. He pointed to the green ring. 'I want to buy that.'

The women looked down. '1920s, Art Deco filigreed silver, Colombian emerald. 750,000 yen.'

Ichigo swallowed.

Chad nodded. 'I'll take it. He pulled out his wallet, from that, his credit card.'

The old woman cackled. 'Cash or cheque. I don't like these plastic things. I want to see the money in my hands, young man.'

Ichigo was about to protest. It was the 21st Century, who didn't accept card? But Chad was unperturbed. He just nodded again, opening his other pocket. He had a chequebook and a pen. How long had be been preparing for every situation?

The shopkeeper took the ring from the cabinet, bringing it out into the light. The green gleamed pale and cool, almost bluish. It _was_ pretty, Ichigo conceded. Maybe he'd get something similar one day, when he had someone to buy one for.

Chad took it from the woman's hand, turning it over and over. He nodded, giving her a thumbs up. She took a little blue box from under the counter and took the ring, sliding it into a bed of blue velvet. The emerald seemed to wink before she snapped the case shut.

'750,000 yen,' she repeated.

Chad leaned on the counter as he wrote out the cheque. The kanji and numbers were precise, as though everything had to be perfect. God forbid the cheque bounced because of a confused word. Ichigo and the old woman simply stared at each other in silence. She raised a gnarled eyebrow. Ichigo cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels.

Finally, Chad was finished. He handed over the cheque and took the box with reverence. It was tiny in his huge hands. He pushed it open with a thumb, staring down at the band of silver and emerald.

He turned to Ichigo, face sombre. 'Do you think ____ will like it?'

Ichigo thought about it for a moment, then nodded. 'Yeah.'

Chad smiled, tucked the box into his coat's inner pocket, and gave Ichigo a thumbs-up. They turned to leave. Ichigo's mind was set on getting something to eat, maybe a cup of coffee. On his way out, he made an idle comment.

'Now you've just gotta ask.'

Chad stopped dead. '...how?'

 

**To be continued.**


	17. Yasutora Sado/Reader - Part Two

The restaurant was so familiar that you no longer referred to it by name. It was simple “the restaurant”, and neither of you needed clarification. Sometimes you ate elsewhere, but like birds flying South for winter, you always ended up back here. It wasn’t the poshest place in Karakura town, or the coolest. In fact, it was a little cheesy and old-fashioned, and just run-down enough to make it feel like home.

The sight of Chad leaning back in the little wooden chair, always looking as though he was about to break the damn thing, warmed you. The waiter, a balding, middle-aged man named Nobu, set the menus down on the table with a wry smile. It was form to give them to you, though you rarely opened them.

‘I will leave you to decide, customer-sama,’ he said, bowing a fraction, then left.

‘Oh,’ you said, ‘I _wonder_  what I should have...’

Chad’s mouth curled at the corners. He didn’t open his menu either. He always ordered gazpacho to start. This was the only place that made it how he liked. 

‘How was work, babe?’ you asked, reaching across to take one of his large hands. His fingers curled around yours, giving a gentle squeeze. Normally he let go after that, but your hand remained in his warm palm. His thumb stroked over the backs of your knuckles. A familiar flutter of adoration rippled through you. ‘Is Kenji-kun ready for that tournament?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. You wouldn’t believe what one of the kids in my class did today...’ 

With that, you started to regale him with the tale of the little boy who’d tried to stuff crayons into his ears instead of practicing his kanji. You’d only just managed to get them out before the headmistress walked in and handed him a punishment for disruptive behaviour. You’d struggled to keep a straight face as you spoke to the stern old woman, hiding two earwaxy crayons behind your back. 

The first course came and went while you were talking. He smiled throughout, never butting in. At the start of your relationship you’d apologised for talking so much to fill the quiet, but every time he’d leaned over, kissed you, and said, ‘Talk.’ He liked your voice, he liked you to tell him things. Even if he wasn’t loquacious himself, he liked to hear about your life. 

Your main course, flautas, was ordered and eaten.

Tonight, however, he was quieter than usual, which was saying something. Curious, you reached over and lifted up his wavy hair, exposing both his eyes. He smiled at the gesture. His gaze was soft, warm, focused entirely on you. 

Something was...different. He took your hand, lowered it from his face, and held it. The air between you seemed to thicken. His brown eyes were locked on yours, his lips parted a fraction as though he were about to speak. The hairs on the back of your neck stirred. 

‘Yasutora?’ you asked.

‘____...’ He trailed off, reaching under the table with his free hand-

‘Dessert, customer-sama,’ said Nobu, appearing with two plates of chilli-chocolate cake. ‘Enjoy.’

Chad sighed, releasing your hand. The moment dissipated like candyfloss in the rain. The chocolate cake seemed less appealing for the interruption it’d caused. Your heart skittered underneath your ribs, a hollow, fizzing excitement in your stomach. He’d been about to say something. You picked up the fork, barely able to feel your fingers, and shot him a glance from under your lashes.

He was poking at his cake, eyes downcast, face blank. 

 _What was that about?_  You speared a morsel of cake, reached out, and jabbed his lips with it. Chad looked up, surprised. He let you feed him the cake. The sight of his full lips closing around the fork sent your mind spinning down dark, sultry paths. 

You drew the fork back, twirled it in your fingers.

‘Yasutora-kun...did you want to talk to me about something?’

He put down his fork. The second of silence stretched out, thinned. He took a deep breath, then reached over the table. The pad of his thumb brushed your cheek. 

‘Will you marry me?’

The four words, in his deep, slow voice, fell like hammer strikes. And like a struck gong, your entire body quivered. You were stuck in place, fork frozen in your hand, your mouth fallen open in shock.

He waited, patient as ever. 

You launched yourself across the table, grabbing his stunned face, and crashing your mouth into his. The cakes was squashed beneath you, cutlery clattering to the floor. Other diners turned to stare, but you didn’t even notice. Your hands were full of soft, wavy brown hair, your heart and mind full of light. He cupped the back of your head and kissed you back, sweet and slow. 

After the longest time, you pulled away, thudding back down into your seat. The front of your shirt was smeared with chocolate, your hair coated in frosting. 

‘ _Yes_!’

Chad reached into his pocket and brought out a small blue box. It was tiny in his hands. He flipped it open. A silver ring, beautifully filigreed with a large square emerald, glittered back at you. 

Chad had asked you to marry him. _He was proposing._ You scrubbed a hand through your hair, swallowing against a tight throat. Oh, god, he was so perfect. His smile broke your heart and put it back together. 

‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you,’ you said, just in case he didn’t get it the first time. ‘A million times, yes.’


	18. Soifon/Reader

There was only one place to find the taicho of the second division if she wasn’t in her office: the training grounds. The low buzz of reishi, the clatter of metal, the grunts of exertion - all of it was almost enough to drive you away, back into the comfort of your small office in the third division. Otoribashi-taicho didn’t know why you’d asked to leave early. He wouldn’t enquire too closely if he thought you were uncomfortable. Though gods forbid he ever found out.

You _really_ didn’t want your inevitable failure to be immortalised in a tragic love ballad.

Anxiety had your stomach in sick, twisting knots, wrapped around your lungs so you couldn’t breathe. You were pretty sure that metaphor wasn’t anatomically correct, but you didn’t have the time or thought capacity to think of a better one. You rubbed at the acidic sensation in your chest.

This was worse than going into battle. In battle you might die or be injured, but you wouldn’t be heartbroken or humiliated. You’d never believed yourself quite so reckless until your heart started thumping every time Soifon-taicho was around. Thank the gods you weren’t a fukutaicho. Lowly third-seats didn’t need to go to taicho meetings, which was lucky for your health.

The woman gave you palpitations.

Your waraji scuffed against the flattened earth of the training field. You were still within the shadows of the closest building, but knew without a doubt that at least a dozen ninja had pegged your arrival. You’d probably been tracked since you set foot on their territory.

No, not probably. _Definitely._

A horrible thought rose in your mind. Had they read your vital signs every time you were close to their taicho? Did she know about your infatuation? A cold sweat broke out on your back.

If she laughed at you…you could never show your face in public again.

But, what would make them laugh more? Failure in the attempt, or failure to _make_ the attempt? Something hot and sour surged up the back of your throat. _Oh, god_ , you were going to be sick.

There was a soft scuff of cloth against the tiled roof overhead, and a shadow detached itself from the eaves of the building. Landing before you, graceful as hunting cat, Soifon-taicho straightened up and folded her arms. Your brain prompty shut down.

‘What are you doing, sneaking around my division?’ she demanded. She wore no visible weapons, but there had to be a small arsenal hidden under her shihakusho. Her voice was flat, bored. ‘Whatever Otoribashi wants, it can wait.’

‘I-I…n-no…not…’ The syllables didn’t want to come out in the right order. They skipped over each other and spilled out all wrong. 'O-Oto-ri-ri-ba-’

'Have you developed a speech impediment?’ she asked coolly, looking you up and down with a flicker of steel-grey eyes. 'You need the fourth.’

Your cheeks burned. 'No! I-I’m not…not…’

Soifon regarded you in chilly silence. Waiting.

You took a deep breath, and lifted your eyes to hers. Your heart was clenching like a fist, pumping your veins full of adrenaline.

'W-will-’ Another deep breath. _Relax. Speak slowly_. 'Would you like - I mean, will you h-have dinner with me, Soifon-taicho?’ You shut your eyes tight and waited for the blow to fall. She was probably going to kick you into next week for your impertinence.

'W-what?!’

Your eyes popped open. _Huh?_

The intelligence you prided yourself on, your centuries of knowledge and experience, your complex thought processes - all of it turned to mush. Soifon was blushing. _Blushing_. Her arms had fallen to her sides, her stance hesitant. Uncertain. Her face was redder than Abarai’s hair, her eyes round with shock.

'Taicho?’ you ventured.

'Shinigami, did you just proposition me?’ she asked stiffly.

Your mouth fell open. _Proposition_? That was the same as accusing you of asking her for sex. Indignation seared through you, burning away your embarrassment. 'I asked if you would like to have dinner with me,’ you said shortly, flustered for an entirely different reason now. Why had you thought this was a good idea? 'I-I guess that’s a no.’

'I didn’t say that,’ she snapped.

You floundered. Should you just turn and go? Stay here and wait for her to decide how to report and/or punish you? 'Then, what? Taicho,’ you added quickly when she glared at you.

'I have very little spare time,’ she said. Her arms were folded again, a barrier between herself and you. She looked slightly past you, gaze hard. 'I have a division to run, the Onmitsukido to manage, subordinates and bureaucracy to organise because Omaeda is a useless sack of meat-’ She seemed to realise she was rambling. She lifted her chin, face unreadable. 'I have an hour, this evening.’

Your head was full of white noise.

'Taicho?’

'You will report to me at eight. If you are late, I am not going to wait for you.’ 

‘ _Taicho_?’

‘Eight. Not a second later,’ she said, her tone one of dismissal. Before you could say anything else, she turned on her heel and strode away, her long braids swaying, gold hoops flashing in the noon sun, white haori fluttering.

You reached out a hand, pressing it against the wall. Your couldn’t feel your knees. A stupid, goofy grin crossed your face.

‘Eight…’


	19. Kuchiki Byakuya/Reader

'I take it you are ready to retire for the evening,’ he murmured against your mouth. His low voice held an edge that sent a shiver down your spine, as though his throat was tight. His lips pressed a little harder, his fingers trickling up the nape of your neck to the elegant chignon you’d worn to the Kuchiki clan dinner, and back down, to the low neckline of your dress. The gown left half your back exposed, covering just enough to be seemly. You’d felt the tingle of his gaze on your bare shoulderblades periodically throughout the night. 

‘I am,’ you said, with a coy smile as you slipped away. You were planning to wriggle out of the dress.

Byakuya had other plans. His breath washed warm over the back of your neck as he appeared behind you, stirring the tiny wisps of hair that had fallen loose. His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin, then pressed down in a kiss.

‘ _I_  will undress you.’

You closed your eyes and smiled. ‘Yes, Kuchiki-taicho.’

You heard his small huff of amusement. His voice dropped an octave. ‘That’s Byakuya to you.’

Your chuckle was husky, edging on breathless. He kissed the back of your neck as he slipped the zipper down to the small of your back and edged the straps off your shoulders. The dress slipped down, pooling at your feet. He skimmed his hands down your sides, gripping just enough to spin you around.

His gaze was heated, eyes the colour of mercury. The edges of his mouth curled a touch. Your knees wobbled. 

Kisses swept you toward the bed. Every touch robbed you of breath. You sank into the mattress, only to be caged in by Byakuya’s warm, fully-clothed body. He would explore every inch of you before he removed so much as a tabi. His hair hung down to brush your neck as he sealed your mouth shut with a possessive kiss. 

You threw decorum aside and flung your arms around him.

‘Behave,’ he ordered.

‘Then do not tease,’ you countered.

He huffed. ‘Perhaps I should come back when you’re feeling more receptive to me.’ His tone bordered on teasing, though he sat up to illustrate his point. 

‘Come back here, Byakuya-sama,’ you cooed, leaning toward  him, reaching for his face.

He leaned back, out of range, eyes dark and amused.

Until they widened.

There was a rapid slither of sheets and a quiet grunt, and then you were staring at cool, empty air. Slowly, you leaned over the edge of the bed.

‘Byakuya...’

He was sprawled in an ungainly fashion on the bedroom floor, his hair displaced, his expression one of mild astonishment.

‘Did you just fall off the bed.’ Your tone was flat, disbelieving.

‘Of course not,’ he replied, automatic.

‘Stop teasing me, and I’ll never mention this again.’

He flowed to his feet, twitched his shihakusho straight. ‘...You have a deal.’


	20. Abarai Renji/Reader

Your shriek of delight filled the small bedroom as you were borne down onto the bed by a whole lot of hard, heavy man. His weight pressed a groan of satisfaction out between your lips. To complete the experience, you found the small band of his hair tie and tossed it to one side.

Scarlet hair fell down around you, dragging across your skin as Renji laved kisses down the side of your neck, his tongue stroking over the throb of your pulse.

'I've been thinking about you all fucking day,' he groaned against your skin. He rolled onto his side, giving himself access to the ties of your shihakusho. He yanked your obi open and finagled a hand under your kimono, fingertips brushing across the soft skin of your stomach, leaving tingles in its wake.

You laughed and yanked his head back up for more kisses. A long day of dealing with idiots meant you were more than ready to get your rocks off. Renji was the perfect grindstone to remove a few of your rough edges. He shook off your urgent hands, and moved down to kiss your neck again. It made your eyes flutter shut, but also sent a pang of impatience through you.

He could seduce you the second time around.

Planting a foot flat on the mattress, you heaved him off onto his back, and rolled to straddle him.

You saw, in the nanosecond that followed, his eyes darken with lust, then widen with surprise, before you pitched off the bed and hit the floor with an ungainly _thud_.

There was a beat of silence.

Renji leaned over the edge of the bed. He stared. 'You just...'

Embarrassment crawled red and hot up your neck. 'Don't.'

His wide shoulders started to shake. 'You...you fell...'

' _Don't_.'

He coughed, cleared his throat. His mouth was twitching at the edges.

' _Renji_ ,' you snarled in warning.

His howl of laughter cracked through the bedroom. Renji collapsed onto his back, guffawing. 'You _fell off the fucking bed_!'

Flustered, irritated, you got to your feet. There was a sandal by your foot, which you tossed at him. It bounced off his head. He cursed in pain, but kept chortling, practically rolling around in glee.

'Asshole.' You turned to leave. Maybe you could take a shower, let the hot water run off your frustration and humiliation. He wouldn't be laughing when he had blue balls.

You were yanked back by your shirt. Renji, leaning off the bed, had caught a handful of the cloth. He gave an almighty tug that sent you tumbling down on the bed, into his arms. He rolled you onto your back, propping himself up on an elbow.

He gave a sharp, sultry grin, dark eyes glinting down at you. His calloused thumb traced the corner of your jaw. His erection pressed against your thigh.

Your breath stalled.

'You fell hard for me, huh?'

The moment cracked and fell apart like a badly-made cup. You stared up at him in disbelief.

'You're fucking kidding me, Renji.'

'Whaaat?~' he asked, all innocence.

'A pun. A _bad_ pun, at that.'

He snorted, pulling you against him. His lips pressed against your nose. 'You walked right into that one. Or _fell_ into it...'

'Shut up,' you muttered.


	21. Muguruma Kensei/Reader

He really shouldn’t have dozed off on the couch. As a taicho, he ought to know better. As a former member of the Vizards, he _really_  ought to know better. Sprawled on the office sofa, head thrown back, snoring softly. So exposed and vulnerable.

Poor, stupid Kensei.

You were quite proud of yourself, really. It was a master-work of stealth and bravery. Every twitch of his nose, sleepy complaint, and subtle shift of his body had almost sent you running with the job half done. But, in for a penny, in for a pound.

The point of the eyebrow pencil trembled as you lowered it to the hard plane of his left cheek. His skin depressed under the soft kohl. You bit your lip, concentrating so hard a bead of sweat trickled from your forehead. You dragged the pencil across his cheek, sweeping up toward his ear, but stopping short of his hair. It matched the two others on his cheek, and the matching set on the other side of his face.

The little black triangle on his nose really pulled the whole thing together. 

Kensei made the cutest cat. 

You slipped off the couch, determined not to ruin all your hard work at the last barrier. You took several steps back, bent, and retrieved a small silver camera. You raised it, making sure to get Kensei dead-centre. 

 _Click_. _Click, click, click._

Flash off, of course. You weren’t stupid. 

Kensei grunted, eyes popping open. He stared around, bleary-eyed. You slipped the camera into your pocket quick-sharp, and sat down next to him, innocent as a lamb. 

‘Tired, babe?’

He frowned at you, momentarily confused. ‘Damn, I fell asleep?’

‘Yeah. I don’t think anyone came in though.’

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his jaw cracking wide open in a yawn. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘About a minute,’ you lied, crushing the giggles rising up the back of your throat. He looked like the sleepiest, grumpiest kitty to ever exist. 

He grunted, scratching at his jaw, roughened by end-of-the-day stubble, and turned to you. His expression warmed, and he reached for you to give you your usual kiss hello. ‘C’mere, then.’

The sight of his whiskered face coming closer to yours broke the fragile barrier holding your laughter in. It burst out in a snort, then a rapid cacophony of giggles. You slapped a hand over your mouth, falling back against the arm of the chair. 

Kensei stopped short, expression crashing down into a scowl. ‘What’s so funny?’

You opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled string of cackles. 

‘Here, kitty, kitty!’ you crowed, crooking your finger at him.

His face flushed a dark red, making the whiskers and little nose stand out livid. He shoved himself off the couch and stormed to the wall, where a mirror hung. 

There was a moment of silence as he appreciated your handiwork. 

‘ _What the fuck_ ,’ he snarled. He rounded on you. ‘Did you do this?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ you admitted, fallen sideways on the sofa, clutching your stomach. ‘Oh, my god. You look so cute! C’mere, kitty.’

His hands clenched into fists, a vein throbbing in his temple. He scrubbed at his cheek, smudging his whiskers. Your giggles reached another crescendo. His eye twitched.

‘You think this is _funny_?’ he growled. He loomed over you, hands slamming down either side of you on the couch cushions. ‘It’s just fucking hilarious?’

You nodded helplessly, grinning fit to bust. 

His eyes darted down, spotting the slim pencil sticking out of your pocket. He had your arms pinned above your head and your hips pinned in place by his own bulk in half a second. Your giggles dried up.

‘Kensei...’

His bewhiskered face leered down at yours. ‘If it’s so fucking funny, you won’t mind if I return the favour, huh, babe?’ He pulled the kohl from your pocket and wrenched the cap off with his teeth, spitting it out. He waggled the pencil over your face. ‘Payback’s a bitch.’


	22. Abarai Renji/Reader

_That jerk better be happy to see me._ You’d traded your days off for at least the next three months to swing a short visit to the World of the Living. It was a once-in-a-decade opportunity, since Renji’s downtime never seemed to coincide with yours. Perhaps it was Kuchiki-taicho’s way of making sure his subordinate was never too happy, but there was nothing the sixth division taicho could do about you visiting Renji while he was on a minor mission.

He’d obviously heard, though, if the cool glare he shot your way in the last meeting had been any indication. If there was one hobby your own taicho approved of, it was ruffling Kuchiki’s feathers. Good old Yadomaru-taicho. All she’d requested in return for granting you the Senkaimon pass was a hefty stack of swimsuit magazines. No problem.

Renji could get them.

The masked Kido Corps member made a gesture, and the Senkaimon flared open like a wide, white window of light. The Jigokucho lifted from your shoulder and fluttered toward it, becoming nothing more than a dark speck. You followed the butterfly into the passage between worlds.

Senkaimon were a necessary evil. There was nothing inherently wrong with them, but there was always the lingering fear at the back of your mind that it would snap shut, with you trapped between Soul Society and the World of the Living. It could be worse. You could have to use the Dangai. The thought of it made you shiver. No-one left the Shino'o Academy without hearing some horror stories about the Dangai.

The door to the human world took the form of a paper screen, which rolled aside at your touch. Sunlight bathed you as you stepped through, chasing away thoughts of dark, empty places. Urahara-shoten was on the other side of the street, the little white van still tucked down the side of the building. The strange little human girl, Ururu, was out front, leafing through a thick book.

She glanced up at the feel of your reishi. ‘Good morning, ____-san. Is Urahara-san expecting you?’ Her stutter had disappeared several years ago, about the same time she’d started attending junior high school.

‘Probably not,’ you said cheerfully. ‘I’m a surprise. Is Abarai here?’

‘The moocher?’ Ururu asked with a faint smile. ‘He’s still asleep.’

You sighed through your nose. ‘Of course he is. Well, I guess I can get some shopping done before he drags himself out of bed. Is my gigai in the storage room?’

Ururu stilled. Her gaze slid away from you, focusing upon a very interesting spot of dirt by her foot. ‘Um.’

You raised your eyebrows, suddenly uneasy. 'Did something happen to the gigai?’ It’d be a pain in the ass if you had to wait for a new one to be issued, or worse, buy one. You didn’t have that kind of money. When she didn’t answer, your voice sharpened. ‘Did something happen to my gigai?’

‘It’s in Moocher-san’s room.’

A nerve twitched in your left eyelid. ‘What.’

‘Your gigai. It’s in Moocher-san’s room…?’ Ururu repeated, trailing off uncertainly. She pressed her forefingers together. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Not at you.’ You glanced up at the upper level of the building, scanning the windows. Which one was his room? And what the hell was he doing with your gigai? ‘Lead the way, Ururu-chan.’

‘Okay.’

She walked in front of you, shoulders hunched, head lowered, as though she was waiting for the fight to break out. You weren’t entirely sure it wouldn’t, if he’d messed with your gigai. He’d have to buy you a new one out of his Gin Tobo savings. No more cool sunglasses for Renji.

What a pity.

Inside, the shop was dark and cool. A lanky figure lay sprawled on the couch, wafting a paper fan. Shrewd eyes glinted at you from beneath a bucket hat. Urahara. He sat up, a wide canary-eating-cat smile crossing his face.

‘Something I can help you with, ____-san?’

‘She wants her gigai,’ Ururu mumbled.

The grin got, if possible, wider. His eyes, alight with glee, were fixed on your face as he asked: ‘And did you tell ____-san where her gigai is?’

‘Yes.’

Urahara snapped the fan shut, twirled it in his fingers, and it was gone. Vanished. He got to his feet, brushing imaginary dust from his haori. ‘Well, I have to see this.’

As tempting as it was to tell him to mind his own business, this was his shop, and therefore literally his business. You rolled your eyes and started toward the stairs. By the time you reached the top, you realised there were far too many sets of footsteps behind you. You glanced back over your shoulder.

Urahara, Ururu, Tessai, and Jinta stared back.

'Hey, lady, why’re you blocking the stairs?’ Jinta demanded. 'Get moving.’

'Really?’ you asked. 'All of you?’

'We wanna see what the pervy moocher is doing!’ said Jinta, giving Ururu a push to get her moving.

You almost considered asking them not to follow you. Then again, if Renji was doing something perverted with your gigai, catching him red-handed with a full audience in tow was the best revenge. A short, annoyed huff left your mouth, but you gestured for Ururu to lead the way again. Jinta cackled with glee. The five of you paraded down the hall, stopping at a nondescript door.

You opened it.

The room was barely bigger than a broom closet. Just enough for a single futon and a nightstand. And a Renji and a gigai. Standing in the doorway, you could feel the others crowding behind you, peering over your shoulders.

Well, now you just felt bad.

Renji was in bed with your gigai, but you weren’t sure that having it cuddled -in a pair of your pyjamas- against his chest was perverted. A little weird, yes, but forgivable. His hair spilled over his bare shoulders as he grumbled in his sleep, nuzzling into the back of your gigai’s neck.

'Okay, show’s over,’ you said, planting a hand on Jinta’s grinning head and pushing it out the door. 'And the rest of you. _Out_.’

'This _is_ my shop-’ said Urahara, just as you slid the door shut in his face.

You waited. After a few moments, footsteps creaked away along the corridor. You waited another minute. There was an irritated sigh, and Jinta’s distinctive stomping tread left too. Little brat. You kind of hoped you had a kid like him some day, just so you could unleash him on the grown-up Jinta as revenge.

Hands planted on your hips, you considered the dozing fukutaicho. He was using your expensive, almost impossible to replace gigai…as a glorified teddy bear. What’s worse, your gigai was getting more action than you. Renji’s hand was a little too comfortable cupping the gigai’s chest, half-hidden by the covers. It was a habit he had with you, so the gigai must feel a bit too lifelike to sleep-Renji.

'Are you done molesting my gigai, Pineapple-boy?’

Renji’s eyes snapped open. He stared in bleary confusion between you and the lifeless replica in his arms for a solid minute. His mouth opened.

’ _Uwah_?’

'Are you replacing me with a girl that won’t tell you to pick up your wet towels? Because, I mean sure, she’s extremely attractive, but I don’t think her cooking skills will be quite up to par.’ A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. ’

Renji’s face was as red as his hair. ’…babe? I-it’s not what it looks like…’

'It looks like you’re using my gigai to cuddle with.’

'Oh.’ He scratched the back of his neck. 'I couldn’t sleep last night, and…’

You pointed at the futon. 'Is there room for me in there anywhere?’

His eyes widened. He flopped the lifeless gigai onto the floor, flipping back the covers to make room for you. You shucked your zanpakuto and crawled in. If Renji was going to cuddle anything, it was going to be _you._ True to form, he wriggled one arm under your pillow and draped himself across you like a blanket. He nuzzled into your neck, letting out a satisfied sigh.

'Better than a gigai?’ you teased.

He laughed. 'Always.’

‘Oh, and you have to fetch some porn magazines for Yadomaru-taicho,’ you added, closing your eyes. 

Renji stopped nuzzling. ‘ _What?!’_


	23. Zaraki Kenpachi/Reader

Between the sun glaring down, baking the back of your neck and the earth under your feet, and your shaking, aching arms, you were ready to give up. The end of the bokken thudded to the ground. You straightened up, kneading your back.

‘Tired already? I’m surprised you can hold a chopstick, if that’s how weak your arms are.’ The dry comment reached your ears from the shaded porch. It was low and rough, like the sound of thunder in the distance. ‘You’ve only been swinging that little twig for five minutes.’

You checked the position of the sun. ‘Bullshit. It’s been half an hour.’

Wood creaked. The shadow under the veranda roof shifted, and Kenpachi stuck his head out. He squinted up into the afternoon glare and grunted. ‘Guess I fell asleep.’

You snorted. ‘At least someone’s getting some rest around here.’

Kenpachi rested one arm on his bent knee, and stretched out the other leg. He took up most of the space between the roof supports, casting a huge shadow across the ground. ‘What bit your ass?’

‘Apart from you?’ you retorted, propping a hand on your hip. He _did_ get a little toothy during your sessions.

He cracked a wide, lecherous grin. ‘Yeah.’

‘Ikkaku made some stupid joke about you having to look after me all the time. He said Yachiru is stronger than me.’ You blew sweaty hair out of your face. ‘Even if it’s true, I need to get stronger.’ You swung the bokken up into your starting form, and swept it across in a broad slash.

It thwacked into the open palm of Kenpachi’s hand. He closed his fist around the bokken and tugged it from your grasp. He weighed it in his huge hands, then snapped it in two. 

Your mouth fell open. ‘Hey!’

‘You need something heavier.’

‘ _Heavier_?’ you asked in disbelief. Your arms already felt like they were going to drop off. 

‘Here.’

He yanked Nozarashi out of its sheath. The toothy, battered blade was over a metre long, though it hardly looked it in his grip. He grabbed your hand and pulled you in front of him, back to chest. 

‘Hold it.’

You placed uncertain hands on the zanpakuto’s hilt. It was unusual in the extreme to touch someone else’s zanpakuto. Though Kenny never did anything by convention. He corrected your grip, squeezing your knuckles to make you hold tighter. 

‘Is there a reason I can’t just use my zanpakuto?’ you asked, trying to ignore the very prominent feeling of rock-hard abs against your back. Despite the heat, you’d broken out in goosebumps. But his radiant warmth was seeping through your shihakusho right down to your bones. Conclusion: He was too distracting, and your hypothalamus was all kinds of fucked up. 

‘It’s not heavy enough to build up your arms. Swing it.’ He let go.

Nozarashi ate dirt. There was a responding tremor up the length of the blade. If you didn’t know better, you might have mistaken it for laughter from the spirit inside. _Great._

Kenpachi laughed, rough and low. ‘Gotta try harder than that.’

‘It’s not my fault your sword is fucking huge!’ you protested, straining to lift it. A second later, that sentence replayed in your mind. You turned around to see Kenpachi’s leer. ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

‘Yeah, right.’ He grabbed your elbows and pulled them out from your sides, forcing you to lift the sword once again. He only stopped when the point was pointing dead ahead. ‘Do it.’

Arms trembling, sweat dripping down the curve of your back, you swung the sword in a wide arc before your muscles gave out. It thudded down again. The pat on your ass made you jump. 

‘Good! Keep doing that.’ His voice rumbled with approval, vibrating through his chest, into your back.

You flushed, flustered, pleased. Pulling the grin off your face was difficult…until you tried to repeat the move. Your biceps screamed in protest. 

‘Kenny.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t lift my arms.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Nope.’

There was a pause, and then a sharp bark of laughter. He took Nozarashi from your nerveless hands and resheathed it. Gingerly, you checked rolled your shoulders and shook out your wrists. Your hands shook. _Damn it._ You weren’t going to get any stronger if your arms gave out after only two tries. Perhaps Kenpachi’s sword was too heavy for you, but a heavier bokken couldn’t hurt. Especially since yours was now useless.

You cast the two splintered halves a baleful look. 

Alas, there was no time to lament your failed training session. Kenpachi was done with work for the afternoon, and if he was, so were you. He hauled you over his shoulder, ignoring your yelp of protest. He gave your ass a playful squeeze as he stalked back over to the veranda, and the welcoming shade. 

‘It’s too hot for this shit,’ he said, sprawling on the cool wooden slats. You were manhandled into his lap, pressed against his chest by a lazy, heavy hand on the middle of your back. The heat conspired with him, making you drowsy and, hard as they were, his pectorals made a very nice pillow. You relented with just one half-hearted punch to his stomach. He didn’t even grunt.

Your eyes drifted shut. An afternoon nap seemed like a _really_  good idea just about now. And no-one would dare interrupt it when you were wrapped in your taicho’s arms. One of the _many_  perks of dating a taicho.

‘If that’s how you punch,’ he drawled, ‘I’m gonna make Yachiru your bodyguard.’

Your eyes snapped open.


	24. Hirako Shinji/Reader

Shinji Hirako didn't take many things for granted, but his ability to tell the time was one of them. He was certain he'd only been gone for five minutes. _Piss, wash your hands, fix your hair, straighten your tie._ How could that take longer than five minutes? Unless the Dangai was screwing around again, there just hadn't been enough time.

She'd won them over in five minutes flat.

Hidden in the doorway to the restrooms, he adjusted his newsboy cap, pulling it low over his eyes. A wide, toothy grin carved its way across the lower half of his face. _Attagirl_.

The Vizards were an intimidating bunch, and some of them stayed that way, no matter how well you knew them. _Lookin' at you, Kensei._  He’d been a little wary about introducing her to them, but from where he stood, it looked like she'd wrapped them all around her little finger, just like she'd done to him. Looked like she was telling some kind of story. Her back was to him, but she was gesticulating. She reached up and adjusted an imaginary cap.

Hiyori doubled over, cackling. The little hellion had tears in her eyes, pounding the table, rattling china. Rose and Lisa looked amused. Kensei was smirking. Shinji's grin slipped a bit.

_What are ya doin', woman?_

He ducked behind a curvy waitress, so distracted he didn't even glance at the curve of her buttocks in that snug black skirt. He got within earshot, and froze as if he'd been blasted by Hyourinmaru.

'Ah, yer killin' me, Lisa-chan! Did I ever tell ya that you were my first love?' She pretended to tighten a tie, brushed imaginary dust off her shoulder. 'Did'ya see my copy of that Stan Getz album, doll? I gotta find it. Ain't nothin' like bossa nova fer the soul.'

'Stupid hage!' Hiyori howled, drumming her sandalled feet against the booth seat. She looked like she was going to have a seizure. Shinji half-hoped she would, hysterical little brat. 'He used to play that smooth jazz shit all day long.'

'Feh, yeh've got no taste,' ____-chan said, adopting Shinji's signature slouch. 'Takes _class_ to understand good jazz.'

Rose scoffed. 'Jazz is as pretentious as it gets. Its lack of structure is merely lack of imagination or ability to work within forms. It's like listening to Jack Kerouac's soul, and that's not something anyone wants to suffer through.'

Kensei cocked a pierced eyebrow. 'You? Calling something pretentious?'

Lisa patted Kensei's burly arm, ignoring the scowl he aimed at her. 'Don't worry, Kensei. We all know you only like 80's disco. Or the sound your fists make when you hit things.'

'Hey, shut up!'

Shinji decided that enough was enough.

'Having fun, _are ya_?'

His girl went still, silent. He expected her to turn around, to blush. Maybe to stutter out an apology. It'd be cute enough that he'd be able to forgive her. Or perhaps he could milk it a bit, get a little coddling and attention. Yeah, that might just do it.

She turned slowly, her face pale, frozen. He readied his smile, ready to forgive her. Her eyes met his, wide. Then they narrowed, and she tilted her head _just so_ until her hair shadowed them. Her eyes glinted, and a slow, horribly familiar smile spread across her face.

'Hey, there, dollface,' she purred.

Shinji rolled his eyes. He doffed his cap, jammed it down on her head, and pulled it down over her eyes.

'Shut it, brat.'

_I'll get ya back fer that, later._

'Yer breakin' my heart,' she cooed. She pushed up the brim of the cap, giving him a sweet, sultry smile from underneath it. His fingers twitched toward her, wanting to touch that adorable face. She knew he was a sucker for that face. He'd created a monster.

'Damn it.'


	25. Yamada Hanataro/Reader

Luck was a fickle, fanciful thing, and had ever been your nemesis. You cursed whatever deity was in charge of good fortune, wondering why it’d forsaken you, and wedged your foot in the lacquered pipe attached to the side of the wall. It creaked under your weight, but held. Holding your breath, you reached up to catch the next bracket, and pull yourself up. By repeating this exercise four times, you were able to shimmy up the pipe to the guttering.

Difficult, really, to pinpoint the chain of events that landed you in these positions. Everything you did seemed to have a domino-effect, events spiralling out until you found yourself running away from angry boar-riding gangs in the Rukongai. Or hiding in the rafters of the eleventh division’s bath-house.

Or climbing up the garden wall of the Kuchiki estate.

The only hope was that the little brat hadn’t gone too far, or that she lost interest in the game and gave up her stolen treasure before you were both caught by the Kuchiki private guards. One thing was for certain, you thought, slinging a leg over the top of the wall, you were never answering an invitation from the WSA ever again. 

Halfway through tea and budget discussions that went completely over your head, their pink-headed demon-child leader had settled her magpie gaze on the candy bracelet strung around your wrist. Her nostrils had quivered. Actually _quivered_ , as she caught its sweet scent. You’d seen cats’ pupils expand when they lit on a target, and Yachiru’s had done just the same.

She’d swept it from you in the blink of an eye and gone tearing from the meeting. You’d sat there, stunned, your wrist feeling lighter than air from the sudden loss, staring at the door. Hanataro’s bashful face swam to the forefront of your mind. The sweet, shy smile he’d worn when he’d presented it to you on his return from a trip to the World of the Living.

_‘It’s not much, but it reminded me of you, ____-chan.’  
_

_‘I love it! I’ll never take it off!’_

That was it. The room tinted red, and your veins ran hot. That little _brat._ You were on your feet before the door had fully slammed shut. Ise-fukutaicho opened her mouth to forestall you, but her words were lost in the screech of wind as you flash-stepped, following the faint crackle of gleeful pink reishi. 

And now you were perched on the wall, staring down into Kuchiki-taicho’s manicured gardens. This could quite possibly be the stupidest thing you’d ever done, but there was no way you were going home without that bracelet. Not when you’d only had it a week. 

A rustle in the bushes.  _There_. You dropped to the ground, gritting your teeth when you skinned a knee. Shit. You’d have to repair your hakama yet again, Hanataro would. He was thoughtful like that. Which made it even more imperative that you get the bracelet back. You couldn’t bear to see his face fall when he noticed your bare wrist. Another rustle. You dove toward the source of the noise, sticking your hand in the branches. Your fingers caught cloth, and you hauled up.

Yachiru swung from your hand, like a cat held by the scruff of its neck. Your bracelet hung from her mouth. Two spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. She gave you a jaunty wave.

‘What the _hell_  do you think you’re doing?’ you hissed. ‘That’s mine!’

She spoke around the beads in her mouth. ‘It’s candy!’ Pulling the string out, she held it up. A third of the pastel beads were gone, another third cracked and covered in her slobber. ‘See?’

Your throat tightened. ‘That was _mine_.’

Yachiru shrugged. ‘I’ve got loads of candy at home. Come back and I’ll share some- _oof!’_

You’d dropped her right back into the bush. You snatched the bracelet from her sticky little hands and wiped it clean on your sleeve. How the hell were you supposed to explain this to Hanataro? You always tried so hard to look after the things he gave you, and now it was half-eaten. 

‘My boyfriend bought me this from the World of the Living,’ you said, shaking it at her. ‘It wasn’t for eating!’

Yachiru glanced around. ‘Keep your voice do-’

The vein in your temple throbbed so hard it threatened to rupture. You grit your teeth and glowered down at the fukutaicho. To hell with respect for her rank. ‘DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU THIEVING LITTLE SUGAR DEMON!’

A twig snapped behind you, and you realised your grave mistake. Hands clamped down on your shoulders and dragged you out of the shrubbery. Twigs caught in your hair and clothes, scratching your face. From the half-feral noises coming behind you, it seemed someone else must have gone for Yachiru. You looked up, heart sinking.

Arms folded, face cool and expressionless as carved marble, Kuchiki-taicho looked down at you. His guards kept you locked in place, pinned by that impassive stare. Sweat broke out along your back until his slate-grey eyes shifted off to one side. Another guard emerged from the bushes, holding Yachiru at arms length like something distasteful. She stopped thrashing when she laid eyes on Kuchiki-taicho.

‘Byakki!’

You flinched at the over-familiar nickname. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he ignored her to look back at you.

‘Explain why you are trespassing on my property.’

Your voice took a moment to find. ‘I…Kusajishi-fukutaicho stole something of mine. I pursued her here. Taicho,’ you added quickly.

‘So, she is the ‘thieving little sugar demon’ you were shouting about?’

‘…yes, taicho.’

Something miraculous happened. The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘I’ve rarely heard such an apt description. I frequently experience the same vexation from her. What is it she stole? I’ll see it restored.’

Your heart lifted, until you looked down at the half-chomped bracelet still clutched in your hand. ‘Thanks, but I got it back.’ You held it up. ‘Or half of it, anyway.’

Kuchiki raised an eyebrow. ‘You followed her onto my property to retrieve that…object?’

‘It has sentimental value,’ you said shortly, forgetting just who were talking to. ‘I didn’t mean to trespass…’

‘Give me your word that I’ll never see you here again, and you will be allowed to leave,’ Kuchiki said. ‘And take that creature with you.’

You glared at Yachiru, who grinned. ‘Yes, taicho.’

Half an hour later, after dumping Yachiru off at Zaraki-taicho’s feet, you stumbled up the stairs to Hanataro’s room in the fourth-division barracks. The bracelet hung from your clenched hand. Tears welled, uncried, in the corners of your eyes. Fighting, you could do, but seeing Hana’s face crumple was going to hurt more than any punch or scraped knee. Miserably, you knocked on the door.

It opened quicker than you expected. Hana’s face was a picture of relief -he’d been waiting for you- but it quickly turned to worry when he saw the state of you.

‘____-chan?’ he asked, hesitant. ‘Are you okay?’

His first thought wasn’t even to ask what trouble you’d got yourself into now, but rather to see that you were all right. You sniffed and held out the bracelet. 

‘I’m sorry, Hana-kun. I tried looking after it, I really did! Yachiru stole it and ate half of it, and then Kuchiki-taicho found us in his garden and then-’

Gentle hands took your elbows and pulled you inside the apartment. You babbled the rest of the story while Hana steered you over to the couch, sat you down, and got a damp cloth to wipe your face, hands, and knee. His sweet attentions made you sniffle harder. 

‘____-chan…’ he said, ‘that’s just a candy bracelet.’

‘B-but it’s a present from you!’ you protested. ‘It’s special! She ruined it. I’m so sorry.’

Hanataro’s cheeks flushed, but his eyes sparkled. ‘____-chan.’

‘W-what?’

His face split into a beatific grin. ‘I love you.’

It was your turn to turn red. ‘I love you too,’ you said in a small voice.

He took the bracelet from your hand and put it to one side. ‘How about I get you another one when I go back? Or a necklace?’

Warmth filled you. ‘That…would be nice. Thank you.’

Hanataro placed his hands on your shoulders and leaned forward. A feather-light kiss brushed your forehead. Despite yourself, you smiled. 

‘I’ll make some tea and then heal those scratches for you. Does that sound good?’ he offered. 

‘It does.’ As he smiled and scooted off toward the kitchen, you wondered if perhaps your luck wasn’t so bad after all. 


	26. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my blog followers requested this, and I couldn't help but to write it. It's not overly nsfw, but it does involve genitals.

There weren’t many things Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez expected to do in life, apart from fight, eat, sleep, and fuck. He preferred to take life as it came. Making plans for everything and thinking you could predict what was to come was an idiot’s game. Aizen’s fate was testament to that. The arrogant bastard thought he’d be sitting on the throne in the sky. He did get a nice chair in the end, but it was hundreds of feet underground. Grimmjow still laughed himself sick about that ironic twist of fate sometimes. He wished Aizen an eternity of itchy noses, with no-one to scratch it.

That go-with-it mentality had never adequately prepared him for _this_ , though.

He stared at the tools arrayed on the side of the bath. The shaving gel. The plastic disposable razor. The lotion. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he glared down at his partner where she sat perched on the edge of the tub. His very, very pregnant partner.

‘You’re fucking _kidding_ me, right?’

She glowered up at him, arms folded. ‘ _I’m carrying your kid inside my body_ , and you can’t do me this one little favour?’

He scoffed. She'd never been one to back down easily, but pregnancy had made her as stubborn as a mule. ‘Why do I have to do it?’

‘If you hadn’t noticed, I can’t exactly see down there right now.’

He cracked a grin. ‘It still looks good to me, kitten.’ Her scowl became dangerous. He rolled his eyes. ‘Why the hell are you even asking me? Who cares if you’re fuzzy?’

It was precisely the wrong word to use. Her eyes flashed. She shot to her feet, wobbling when her centre of gravity shifted. His hand reached out to grab her elbow, steadying her. She got her balance and huffed. ‘Because I want to feel like myself, and not some _fuzzy_ brood mare.’ She spat the word.

He didn’t get what her problem was. She looked a bit awkward, sure, with the big baby belly, but her eyes were bright, her hair was soft, and she smelled fucking _amazing_. Not that he’d tell her that. She’d only get fussy and think he meant she stank or something. Idiot woman. His idiot woman, though, and carrying his kid.

‘I do this, you stop going to the store.’

Her mouth fell open in outrage, and she jabbed him in the chest with the point of her finger. ‘You manipulative _ass_! What do you think I am? You just want me locked up and pregnant?’

Not in so many words. He wanted her where he could keep an eye on her, and stop her stumbling around all over the place, and not have to watch strange old women rubbing their hands across her stomach no matter how much she protested. He didn’t like having to feel sick to his stomach (what there was of it) every time she pulled her coat from the hook and set to clamber down the apartment stairs. None of this showed on his face, of course. Some things didn’t change.

Instead, he leered at her. ‘Sounds about right.’

She glared at him for all of three seconds before she saw through him. ‘Oh shut up. Who’s going to get the groceries, huh?’

‘Kurosaki. He owes me.’

‘For what?’

‘Not killing him.’

Her mouth twitched at the corners, and she looked away. She pretended to clear her throat, but he could hear the stifled laughter. _That’s my girl._ She always pretended to be too morally upright to laugh at his wisecracks, but he always saw the hidden smirk.

‘Fine,’ she allowed, pulling her arm free. Neither acknowledged that he’d been holding her elbow all the while. She pulled her shirt off, her pants, her underwear. ‘Stop staring,’ she muttered, shoulders hunched and self-conscious.

‘Oi, you’re mine, wench. I’ll stare if I want.’

‘You’re making me feel like a side-show attraction,’ she grumbled.

Silent, expression flat, he pulled up the hem of his shirt to expose the fist-sized hole that went right through his abdomen.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, point made.’

She sat on the edge of the bath, feet inside it, leaning back with a huff of discomfort. Grimmjow picked up the razor and stared at it. _Call that sharp?_ Well, he guessed it only had to cut hair. Served its purpose. He picked up the bottle of shaving lotion. Sniffed. He sneezed. Aloe, strong.

‘Bless you,' she said, laughing.

'Shut it,' he replied idly, pulling the cap off. He'd seen her do this a few times with her legs. 'Open wider.'

She grumbled, but opened her knees further. 'I'm getting uncomfortable premonitions, sitting like this. If I start going into labour, you better finish the job before you call an ambulance because I'm not going to hospital with a half-shaved vagina.'

He snorted. 'You want stripes?'

'Zig-zags.'

He leered up at her. 'Maybe I'll write my name.'

She put her foot on his shoulder, and shoved. 'You narcissistic ass. Just get rid of all the stubble, okay?'

'All right, quit your bitching.' He smeared a thin layer of gel over her pubic mound and her outer labia, muttering to himself as the smell of aloe got all over his fingers. He was going to be smelling it for hours. 'Stop twitching!'

She grimaced. 'Sorry. It just feels weird.'

He looked up, expression one of disbelief. 'I've done way worse shit down here. Your priorities are fucking weird.' He picked up the razor, glaring at the apex of her thighs. 'Which way?'

She couldn't help laughing at the sight of a feral-faced, terrifying Espada, shirtless, holding a pink disposable razor and looking at her vagina like it was some kind of puzzle he had to work out. Her laughing only made Grimmjow glare harder.

'Down...down,' she got out. She gasped for breath, then pressed a hand to her stomach as a tiny foot within kicked. ' _Oof_. Looks like someone else wants you to get a move on, too.'

'Tch.' Grimmjow ran a hand across her stomach, feeling for the place where the kid had kicked. It came again. A tiny push against his palm. The sooner he got done with this, the sooner he could trap both of them on the couch for a nap. The afternoon sun would be coming through the windows, hitting the couch just right. He could sleep with his girl between his legs and his hands on her stomach. That was the thing that made him touch the razor to her skin.

He pulled it down, barely grazing. Nothing came away. 'This shit doesn't work.'

'You actually have to press down a bit.'

'What if it cuts you, dumbass!?'

She sighed and wrapped her hand over his, showing him the right amount of pressure. She could probably do the whole thing herself by touch, but her back already ached, and she couldn't see if she missed spots. There was nothing fucking worse than shaving, showering, and getting dressed, only to feel that she'd missed a spot. 'Like that. Don't forget to rinse it after.'

'Whatever.' He tried again, leaving a short strip of smooth skin behind. He turned on the tap and ran the razor under it. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. It was easy enough, he supposed. 'You sure you don't want stripes?'

'Good luck explaining that to the midwives,' she snorted. '" _Yeah, I thought I'd just show the little guy where the finish line is_."'

Grimmjow gave a bark of laughter. 'Fuckin' idiot.'

Somehow, while his girl cracked stupid jokes and mumbled soothing words to the kid when he kicked again, Grimmjow finished his job. He rinsed the razor and put it to one side, then pushed her legs wide to get a better look. It seemed fine to him.

'Happy, baldy?'

'Don't forget the lotion.'

'Tch.'

He poured out a small amount -at least it smelled better- and rubbed it into her skin. This, at least, was something he could enjoy. Maybe he wouldn't go to sleep straight away when they were on the couch. She smelled damn good right now, and was soft and smooth...

'Grimm!' she yelped. He looked up. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed.

'What?' he demanded, annoyed.

'Y-you're...'

He looked down. He'd automatically moved from rubbing her skin to rubbing something else. And he didn't think it was lotion on his fingers anymore. He looked back up, eyes burning bright blue, and cracked a wide, wicked grin.

'I just thought of something else I can do for you, kitten.'


	27. Hisagi Shuuhei/Reader

According to the clock in your taicho's office, it was just a few minutes to noon. Yadomaru-taicho sat behind her desk, her fingers steepled in front of her, her elbows resting on the open pages of a swimsuit magazine. Daylight came in through the window, hitting her glasses at just the right angle to make them flash opaque. She did not smile.

'Do you understand your mission, ____-fukutaicho?' She used her stern, command-issuing voice. 'You must not fail.'

You rose from your kneeling position to give a deferential bow. 'I understand, taicho.'

'Then go,' she ordered. 'There is not much time.'

You turned, ready to shunpo straight out of the office, when a cry of 'Wait!' pulled you back.

'Taicho?'

Lisa grinned. 'If he faints, make sure you get it on video.'

You couldn't help but laugh. 'Yes, taicho.'

The ninth division was always humming with activity, like a small beehive. Though, you weren't sure how happy Muguruma-taicho would be about being Queen Bee. As both the headquarters of the Seireitei Communication and the Gotei 13 Security Force, the division members were always run a little ragged. Every time you saw Hisagi, he was dashing thither and yon, loaded down with paperwork or chasing up a report or trying to get Matsumoto's attention. That last bit always rankled you a little, but hopefully he'd be so surprised, you still had a chance.

Greetings floated your way as you strolled into the ninth division compound. As the fukutaicho of the next division over, it wasn't that unusual to see you. And the taicho were friends. Dodging a small shinigami, so loaded down with paperwork she could barely see where she was going, you asked, 'Where is Hisgai-fukutaicho?'

'In the _Communication_ office, ma'am!'

Damn it. You'd hoped to find him at his own desk, or maybe training in the grounds, so you could snatch a quick conversation with him. The last thing you needed was Muguruma, or worse, Mashiro, overhearing what you had to ask him. Wasn't it embarrassing enough that Lisa had been nagging you go do it for nearly a month? Muguruma wouldn't be happy you were wasting his subordinate's time. You glanced back at the gate. Was it too late to slink back to your desk and hide your head in shame?

'____-fukutaicho?' the shinigami asked. She was straining under the weight of her paperwork, a bead of sweat running down the side of her face.

'Thank you.' You dismissed her.

The office for the seireitei magazine was a little further in, and if anything, even busier than the general admin offices. Inside, the air was filled with the clamour of raised voices and rustling paper. Shinigami scurried between overloaded desks, ducking under and over each other. In the middle, you spotted a head of dark hair. Your stomach did an acrobatic move that would have impressed Soifon.

 _Shuhei_. He was bent over a table, his eyebrows furrowed as he pieced together the layout of a double-page spread. His subordinates gathered around him, peering anxiously over his - _firm, muscular­_ \- shoulders. He shifted two pieces of paper around, scrutinized his new design, and grinned. You couldn't feel your legs.

'I think we've got it,' he announced. 'Get this to typesetting. Make sure Anji-san doesn't spill sake over it again. I'm not doing it a third time.' A chorus of agreement and reassurance rose up around him. He waved them off. He glanced around, and spotted you. 'Oh, hey, ____-san.'

'Hey...' you managed faintly. The ninth division shinigami weren't paying you much attention. It was fairly normal for other fukutaicho to stop by and deliver their reports for the magazine. _Stupid_. You'd brought yours yesterday. You should have waited and then had a valid excuse to be here. 'Do you have a minute?'

'Sure.' Shuhei dusted off his hands, squeezing out from between the desks. 'What's wrong?'

The closer he got to you, the more you had to tilt your head back to keep eye-level with him. He wasn't excessively tall, just shy of six feet, but you were most definitely shorter.

'Um. Well...'

'Hisagi-fukutaicho!' a voice cried from the other side of the room.

Shuhei held up a hand. 'I'll be there in a minute.' He turned back to you. '____-san?'

Shit. You had to get it out. _Just say it!_ 'Will you...'

'Hisagi-fukutaicho! The printing press!'

Shuhei frowned, casting an irritated look over his shoulder. 'Just hold on!'

There was a loud clatter and a hiss from the other side of the room. A few shinigami let out shrieks of alarm, leaping onto the desks.

'It's spilling ink everywhere!'

Did this really have to happen _right_ now? Shuhei cursed, taking a step toward the machine and then swivelling back to you. He looked torn. 'Sorry, ____, I'll be right back.' He strode off, toward the disaster.

Fine. This was fine. Probably better this way, actually. Now you could slink back to your taicho and tell her that a faulty printing press had made you fail the mission and you'd changed your mind about asking Shuhei anyway. She would make fun of you for a bit, but that was all. And when Shuhei started dating Rangiku, you'd have to just put up with it, because you were too-

_'Shuhei Hisagi, will you go on a date with me?'_

The words leapt from your mouth like birds in flight, leaving astonished silence in their wake. The printing press hissed and gurgled, ignored for the moment, as every single pair of eyes in the office turned toward you. Including Shuhei's. He stood there, half-turned around, eyes wide. You felt your soul packing up its bags, turning off the appliances, getting ready to leave your body in shame and defeat. A prickling heat crept up the back of your neck.

Shuhei shifted his stance, suddenly becoming awkward, all lines and angles. The tips of his ears bled red, then his cheeks. He took a hesitant glance around at all his staring subordinates. Then, his face split into a cocky little grin.

 _Sweet kami-sama_. Your heart hammered in your chest.

'Do you like tempura?'

Did you like deep fried seafood? What kind of a question was that? _He's asking you about dinner, you idiot_ , a dry voice said from the back of your mind. _Answer him!_

'Yes!' you said, a little more eagerly than you'd intended.

He scratched the back of his head, abashed and boyish, but still grinning. A loud _clank_ from the printing press made him wince, but he didn't turn to look at it. He cleared his throat. 'I'll come get you at eight?'

'Sounds good,' you said, relief warring with happiness to make you smile like a giddy idiot. The grinning faces and raised eyebrows around you didn't make it any easier. 'I'll let you deal with-'

The shinigami who'd been hollering for Shuhei's help got to their feet. They were covered head to toe in thick black ink. More of it ran in rivulets between the floorboards. Shuhei grimaced.

'Better make it nine.'

'Dinner's on me,' you said, flashing him a smile. You were buoyant, lighter than air, and practically floated out of the office. The moment you closed the door behind you, a chorus of whooping and cheering rose from within.

_'Finally, Hisagi-fukutaicho! You were so cool!'_

_'Hisgai-fukutaicho has a date!'_

_'We should mop this up before taicho kills us all.'_

_'...good point.'_


	28. Madarame Ikkaku/Reader

The trap is set. The bait is laid. All he has to do is bite.

And if there is one thing Ikkaku Madarame is good at, it’s biting. The faint ring of teeth marks on the curve of your hip, hidden by the black of your shihakusho, is testament to that. The bottom of your tabi are soaked with sweat, caked with dust. Your lips are cracked and dry. Your tongue sweeps across them. He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice the deliberately provocative move.

You taste salt, dust, and impending victory.

The training grounds are surrounded by a ring of eleventh division members off duty. There’s nothing more entertaining than see you and your lover beat each other to submission before the victor drags the loser off the battlefield.

Your hands tighten around the hilt of your zanpakuto, the wood biting into your calloused palms. The tell-tale burn between your shoulderblades means you don’t have long left. Your thighs and calves are screaming from the lactic acid build-up. Your pulse pounds in your temples, in your fingers, in your ears. It’s the best fucking feeling in the world, bar one.

Ikkaku is dusty, bloody, leering. He’s just as scuffed and scratched. The front of his shihakusho hands in tatters. The air is cool through the rent in the back of your own uniform. He got you there earlier. Lucky bastard.

Not for long.

He’s been favouring his left leg for the last ten minutes. Hozukimaru is in its shikai form. Every time you get in close, he whirls it around, trying to catch you out with the flailing end. _Tricky fucker_. Since you lost the fight last time, your zanpakuto is in its sealed form. Just a bog-standard katana. Slightly battered.

The onlookers are getting restless with you two stalking around each other. They gripe. Someone throws an empty sake bottle. It shatters close to Ikkaku’s feet. His eyes streak away from yours for half a second.

Half a second too long.

Step. Step. _Slash._

The flat side of your katana blade cracks Ikkaku right across the ass. The loud _slap_ echoes through the courtyard, and the sudden silence. As does the yelp that follows. Ikkaku rears up, clapping one hand to his battered backside. You lash out with the side of your foot, hooking his left ankle. You throw your weight sideways to the ground, toppling him in an explosion of dust and curses.

 _Don’t get pinned_. Up. On your feet. Breath ragged. You swing your blade to stop, point quivering, at the exposed length of his neck. Ikkaku freezes. Swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs against the razor-sharp edge. A line of blood trails down into the hollows of his throat.

His arm twitches. _No chance_. You step on Hozukimaru’s staff, forestalling his counterattack.

Ikkaku grunts, hand relaxing.

‘Dirty trick.’ He sounds rather proud.

You kick Hozukimaru away. ‘Exploiting a known weakness. Call it.’

He scowls, eyes burning with futile anger. And lust.

'Your win,’ he says, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. Catcalls go up. He taps your blade. 'Let me up, babe.’

The moment you whip your blade away, Ikkaku is on his feet, grabbing you around the waist. He hikes you up, and your legs wrap around his hips without thought. There’s blood on his neck. He groans as your tongue cleans it away, your teeth scraping across his skin. The voices of your peers fade away, but the flash-step doesn’t end in a tussle of sheets and tangled limbs.

Ikkaku halts in an alley close to your quarters, dropping you to your feet. He curses, rubbing at his behind.

'What the hell?’

He turns a rattled look on you. His neck and ears are a furious red. 'Like you don’t know.’

 _Oh._ Despite your attempt to quell it, a smirk pulls at your lips. 'Want to go to the fourth? They’ll fix it up in no time.’

'Fuck no.’ He looks aghast at the thought.

You snort. 'You just don’t want them knowing I spanked your ass raw last night.’

Ikkaku straightens up, glaring. 'You _begged_ me to let you.’

You cock an eyebrow. 'You _begged_ me to do it harder. You came so much I had to change the sheet.’

'It was the heat of the moment!’

'It was the heat of your asscheeks.’

Ikkaku goes to retort, but his mouth stops, half-open, as a thought occurs to him. He snorts. ’ _Fuck_. You’re a _literal_ pain in my ass.’

'Tch.’ You pull his protective hand away, and give his rump a soothing pat. 'Come on, let’s go. I’ll rub it better.’

'You wanna rub something else while you’re at it?’

'Don’t push it.’


	29. Ukitake Jushiro/Reader ft. Shunsui Kyoraku

Your tea was growing cold. The cup had been sitting between your palms for a long time, its contents undrunk. The tea stand was almost empty, save a few patrons down the other end. Their conversation was a muted buzz, meaningless as a grasshopper song. No-one paid you much mind. Your expression was smooth, neutral, and your eyes distant as though daydreaming. Your thoughts were a world away, in Retsu’s office, and on the two short words, three syllables total, that were powerful enough to change the world.

_‘You’re pregnant.’_

Three weeks of worry and guilt had evaporated like steam. The dizziness, the nausea, the fatigue - it all had a reasonable explanation. The guilt and weight of your silence had gnawed at you. Curling up in Jushiro’s arms every night after carefully brushing your teeth, praying you wouldn’t have to jump out of bed and dash for the toilet bowl to empty your stomach. You’d been picking at meals. Food tasted like ash. You had barely been scraping by at work, staring unseeing at reports. Your first thought had been: _I’m sick. There’s something wrong._

With Jushiro’s own health issues, you couldn’t be ill. It simply wasn’t possible, allowable. There was no room for it; it would be a disaster. Jushiro would try to look after you, as was his nature, and make his own condition worse. You couldn’t handle that sort of guilt. Every wave of dizziness had come laced with an insidious, creeping fear.

Until. _You’re pregnant._

You lifted the tea to your mouth, let the drink flow in between your parted lips. It was cold, but sweet. Your stomach made no protest.

You got to your feet. Leaving a tip on the table, you ducked out from under the tea stand’s awning and began walking. You paid little attention to direction. Wherever felt right. Whichever way the wind blew coolest, sweetest.

Soon, however, a familiar gate loomed ahead. It stood open, welcoming. The first division headquarters. Craning your head back, you traced the white spire of the senzaikyu as it pierced the sky, which was a lofty, cloudless blue. A perfect day. Relief. Good news.

You should go to the thirteenth and tell Jushiro. You should tell your family. You should-

Your feet moved of their own accord. They seemed to be doing that a lot lately. _Just who is operating this thing?_ you wondered wryly. Navigating the long passageways of the first division took no thought. Greetings and good wishes floated your way from smiling mouths and respectfully bowed heads. As Ukitake-taicho’s wife, it was a little difficult to fly under the radar. You nodded and waved in return, half-distracted.

’____-chan! Come to have a drink with an old man? Such kindness!’ The jovial call came from behind you. Turning, you saw Shunsui approaching, Nanao a respectful step behind. Shunsui was like a force of nature. A warm summer breeze, carrying with it flower petals and the scent of sake. He swept you up along with him and Nanao, all the way to his office.

Before you could really process anything, you were sitting on a soft cushion in Shunsui’s office, a cup of tea in your hand. Shunsui folded himself to the one opposite, taking a far less formal pose than yours. He liked to sit open-legged, or lotus. You and Jushiro favoured the seiza. Each to their own. Shunsui smiled amiably until Nanao had put down a tray of small, sweet dumplings and closed the door. Then the expression fell away, replaced with a serious one.

'What’s wrong?’

'How did-’

'I know that look on your face well enough by now. Is it Jushiro?’ he said, steel-grey eyes boring into yours. There was an urgent undercurrent to his voice. He never said it outright, but Jushiro’s health, and its lapses, caused him as much anxiety as it did you.

You sighed. It wasn’t fair to worry him. 'No, he’s been doing quite well lately. The bonsai are suffering for it.’

Shunsui snorted into his tea. 'I’m going to have to replace them again soon.’ He eyed you closely, still not appeased. 'Come to think of it, you’re looking a little pale yourself.’

That would be the frequent vomiting. You exhaled, trying to let some of your lingering nerves go with it. It didn’t work. 'I just came from Retsu-dono’s office.’

Shunsui stiffened, his gaze locked on yours. His free hand curled into a slow fist on his knee. The knuckles stood out white against his tanned skin. His voice was rigidly calm. 'Is it bad news?’

'I…I thought it was,’ you said. It felt like removing a weight to tell someone your worries. Like shrugging off the last remnants of fear. 'I’ve been nauseated, light-headed. I haven’t been able to stomach much for a few weeks.’

Shunsui’s eyes darkened with each word. You could see him steeling himself for bad news, for more pain. As casual or absurd as he was with you, you were a piece of his friend’s, his brother’s heart, and that made you important to him. He’d lost plenty already. Shunsui couldn’t bear any more burdens of loss. His hand strayed unthinkingly to the pinwheels in his hair.

'I’m pregnant.’

The words rang in the ensuing silence.

He blinked. ’…what?’

'I’m pregnant,’ you repeated. It felt significant, to say it out loud. To acknowledge the life that would be sharing your body.

Shunsui seemed to have difficulty processing that. 'You’re going to have a baby?’

Your mouth twitched. 'Yes, Shunsui. That’s generally the end result of a pregnancy.’

'You’re going to have _Jushiro’s_ baby?’ Oh dear, you’d broken the sotaicho. Surely there was a law against that. 'You and Jushiro?’

A soft laugh escaped. Your eyes stung, blurred. 'Yes. Though they’re probably going to take after their godfather with how much trouble they’re causing me.’ You put both hands on the lower curve of your abdomen. It wasn’t swollen yet. The baby was barely more than a cluster of cells. A hint of possibility. 'Do you think he’ll be happy?’

Shunsui chortled. 'Well, well. A baby, huh?’ He rubbed his chin, grinning at you. He reached out to offer you the corner of his white haori sleeve to dry your eyes. You did, cursing happiness and hormones and everything else that made you blubbery. 'He’s going to cry more than you are.’

'Oh no,’ you said, voice watery. You beamed so wide that more tears ran down your face. 'If he cries, I’ll cry.’ You hiccuped.

Shunsui leaned forward to put a hand on the top of your head. He cleared his throat. 'Stop it, or you’ll have me going too.’

'You only cry when the sake runs out,’ you retorted, wiping your eyes on your sleeve.

Shunsui gave a hearty laugh. 'That’s more like it. You haven’t told Jushiro yet, have you?’

'No.’ You pressed your lips together, staring in the direction of thirteenth division. 'I just wandered this way. It’s a lot to think about. I should go and let him know, huh?’

'You should,’ Shunsui agreed. He snapped his fingers together, eyes widening. You watched, bemused, as he got to his feet and went to his desk. He opened a drawer, stared at it, stroked his chin, then closed it. He pulled open another drawer. Lifted out a bottle of sake and put it on the desk. You were about to remind him that you weren’t in a position to have a celebratory drink, when he pulled out a camera. An old one, by the looks of it. One of those disposable ones the humans had stopped using over a decade ago. He came back and handed it to you. 'Make sure you get a picture of his face.’

'So I can show it to the baby when it’s older?’ you asked, genuinely touched by the idea. How nice to see the moment of sheer joy when your father learned of your existence.

'Well,’ Shunsui said, grinning, 'mostly so I can laugh at it later, but your idea is nice too.’

'You’re going to be such a troublesome uncle.’

'Aah, the best kind.’


	30. Kyoraku Shunsui/Reader ft. Ukitake Jushiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've posted this one before, but if I have, let me know? I think they make nice bookends when back to back with the last one.

The tea was growing cold. You’d sat there with your hands wrapped around the cup, in silence, for a solid ten minutes. Jushiro, seated across from you, drank quietly from his own cup, looking out through the open fusuma into his garden. Politely distancing himself so you had time to think, to order the mad jumble of thoughts and emotions inside your head. _Hormones, too_ , you reminded yourself. New chemicals rushing through your blood, heightening your emotions, altering your body. And your growing awareness of another presence inside you, small and fledgeling, entirely dependent upon you.

Your fingers clenched around the cup until your knuckles bled white. The clay cracked.

Jushiro looked around as lukewarm tea spilled all over your hands and lap. He blinked for a second, then got to his feet and dug out a linen napkin.

‘I’m so sorry!’ you said mournfully, plucking at the drenched cloth of your yukata and the shards of the cup. You were a bundle of nerves, jumping at everything.

‘Don’t apologise,’ he soothed, drying your hands with the napkin. He patted your fingers dry and gave you the cloth to dry your clothes, using another to mop up the table. He folded the sharp clay shards in the napkin and tied it with a deft knot. All calm, all forgiving. When you were settled with another cup -which you didn’t dare touch- he sat back down and folded settled his hands on his knees. ‘You seem very anxious, ____-chan. You do know you can tell me anything?’

You didn’t mind the familiar form of address. After three years of marriage to Shunsui, Jushiro was as close as a brother. So of course you nodded and said, ‘I know. I’m just…’

He tilted his head, brown eyes turning shrewd. ‘Shunsui is my closest friend, ____-chan, but I won’t tell him whatever it is, if you do not wish me to. I am your friend, too. I hope you trust me.’

You nodded immediately. Of course you did. It was _Jushiro_ , for heaven’s sake. You’d trust him with your life. The life of your firstborn- Okay, perhaps that wasn’t quite the right turn of phrase, given your current predicament. 

‘I don’t know how to tell him,’ you said in a small, miserable voice. Your lazy, lovable flirt of a husband. All slow smiles and grey eyes and honey-warm voice in your ear. Three years. You’d never been happier, waking up every morning in a tangle of arms and long, wavy brown hair that somehow came undone _every_  night. Until now. Anxiety made your hands twitch, your breathing stutter. You avoided the pensive frown on Jushiro’s face, staring down at your lap.

‘Tell him what?’ You could hear a premonition of worry in Jushiro’s voice. It was almost laughable. Perhaps he thought you’d done something terrible, like being unfaithful. ‘____-chan? Has something happened?’

You sucked in a deep breath. ‘Yes, but it’s not…it’s not what you might be thinking.’ It wasn’t fair to worry Jushiro, to bother him with this. He wasn’t in the best of health. But who else could you go to? Nanao wouldn’t know her taicho as well as Jushiro did. ‘I’m pregnant.’

The change in the thirteenth-taicho’s demeanour was immediate. He sat up straighter, his eyes opening wide. He stared at you in silence for a few long moments. He seemed to be wrestling with something. His voice came out a little strained. ‘You…is this something you are happy about, ____-chan? You yourself want the child?’

‘Of course!’ you blurted. ‘But what if Shunsui doesn’t? I don’t know how to tell him.’

He beamed at you, smile so wide it crinkled his eyes shut. He reached over the table and caught one of your hands in both of his own, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. Something tight loosened in your chest. Your eyes burned at the corners. You blinked rapidly, mouth opening to ask-

‘He’s going to be over the moon,’ said Jushiro. He let your hand go and pushed your tea toward you, urging you to drink. You took a bolstering sip, honeyed tea sliding down your throat. ‘____-chan, please tell him. If I’ve been worried, then he certainly has. He won’t want you to keep this from him.’

You took what felt like your first unlaboured breath in weeks. Your shoulders slumped forward as you sighed in relief. ‘You’re sure he’ll be happy?’

‘He’ll probably throw a seireitei-wide party,’ said Jushiro with a rueful smile. ‘Finish your tea and go tell him,’ he urged.

You drained your cup, your stomach full of excited nerves. _I hope they don’t bother the baby_ , you thought deliriously. ‘I might be overstepping myself, but will you be the godfather?’ Your child could do no better than the kind, honourable man sitting across from you. And you didn’t care if Shunsui sulked that you’d got to ask him first. 

Jushiro’s eyes widened. His mouth worked silently, then he bowed, white hair falling forward. ‘I’d be honoured.’ He straightened up with a beautific smile. ‘And congratulations, ____-chan. You’ll make a wonderful mother.’

‘Thank you and…thank you,’ you said, voice wobbly from a mix of emotion and relief. _Damn hormones_! You got to your feet. ‘I’d better go and let him know he’s going to be a father…’ Your hand strayed absently to your still-flat (for now) stomach. ‘Poor Nanao-kun. She’s going to have to do all the paperwork today.’

Jushiro huffed a laugh from behind you. ‘Where’s the change there?’


	31. Ayasegawa Yumichika/Reader

‘How did you turn my day off, which I planned to spend unconscious, into a shopping trip in the human world?’ you muttered at Yumichika’s back.

His arms were draped with luxurious shopping bags, the ribbon-handles making rainbows down his forearm from elbow to wrist. They rattled as he moved, swaying, flashing the logos of over half a dozen stores. Anyone else might wonder where a member of the 11th division got the kind of money to buy so much stuff, but Yumichika wasn’t your average 11th division grunt. He was cunning, and hoarded his wages like a dragon. Not to mention, as the one who did the accounts for the whole division, he was surprisingly good with financial acumen.

And he could smell a bargain like a bloodhound. If he and Rangiku ever went shopping together, they’d tear the mall apart.

It was a nice enough place, for the human world. The building was large and airy, with a glass ceiling and a mezzanine level full of ferns, couches, and coffee shops. Sleekly-dressed humans passed you by without batting an eyelid, and the shops were full of bright, pretty things that promised health, beauty, and fun. The air smelled of perfumed cosmetics, fast food, coffee, and doughnuts.

Yumichika glanced back over his shoulder. ‘You’re grouchy for someone on a shopping trip, ____-chan.’

You sighed, and sped up to link your arm through his. ‘When you said you’d have the day off too, I was hoping we could spend it together. Alone,’ you added when he opened his mouth to point out that, technically, you _were_ spending the day together. ‘Ikkaku doesn’t even want to be here. Do you, Ikkaku?’

The pair of you looked back. Ikkaku was laden down even more than Yumichika. He carried at least half a dozen boxes, and his arms were striped with bag handles up to his biceps. His face floated above the tower of boxes like a red, beleaguered egg. ‘No, I don’t want to fucking be here.’

‘See, he doesn’t want to be here,’ you said pointedly to Yumichika.

‘Who else was going to carry the boxes?’

'You idiot,’ Ikkaku growled. 'When you promised me you could get me the day off on one condition, this was _not_ what I had in mind!’

'That’s what happens when you agree to the terms before you know the conditions,’ said Yumichika with a careless shrug. His gaze flickered over your face. 'Still, I don’t like seeing you look so down in the dumps, gorgeous. Ikkaku, why don’t you wait for us at the food court?’

Ikkaku perked up at the thought of a) food, and b) not having to trail after his friend and his friend’s partner, footsore, back aching, and bored shitless while you two picked through clothes rails. He marched off with scarcely a wave.

'He’s going to eat himself sick again, isn’t he?’ you said.

'Probably, but that hardly matters now I have you to myself,’ a voice purred close to your ear. You tensed. You’d been so busy staring at Ikkaku’s retreating back to notice Yumichika leaning in. 'Let’s find something to cheer you up, hmm?’

You scoffed, tugging at the orange scarf wound rakishly around Yumichika’s neck. 'Such going home so I can take a twelve-hour nap?’ You smiled, walking your fingers up his throat to the edge of his jaw. Silken blue-black hair brushed the back of your hand. Yumichika raised an eyebrow, but his violet eyes warmed. 'You could join me? Not all of that nap has to be sleeping…’

'It’s cute, how you try so hard to tempt me,’ he said, leaning forward, tilting his head as though he was going to kiss you. You braced yourself for it, for the warm, sweet, heady- 'But we both know you’re going to pass out as soon as you lie down, and then hog all the covers.’

He pulled away with a smirk and waltzed into the closest store instead. You scowled at his back. The worst thing was, you couldn’t even deny it. Sleep was more important to you than hair conditioner was to him. You were so often short of it, so your body had come up with the reflex of making you pass out as soon as your head touched the pillow. The covers thing was true, too. Yumichika had learned he’d have to fight you for the blankets if he wanted to stay warm at night.

 _Should be right up his street, fighting for survival_ , you thought, your shoulders slumping as you followed him into the shop. A blast of cool air washed over you as you stepped inside. Too cold. Goosebumps prickled all down your bare arms, and you scooted further into the racks of clothes. Whose bright idea was it to crank up the air-conditioning so high?

You found him pondering a rack of pretty silk scarves, the shopping bags discarded in a careless pile at his feet. He had a new conquest in mind. His violet eyes shifted to you, then narrowed. Considering. He reached out, closing a hand around your wrist, and drew you forward into brighter light. His pupils widened, the purple around them darkening, as he gazed at you.

'You’re always so pretty,’ he muttered, running a finger along the edge of your jaw. 'Even when you’re glaring at me.’

'You’re a little biased,’ you retorted.

He pulled away, reaching up to take a scarf from the rack. He held it up against your skin, watching how the light from the shimmering cloth reflected against your cheek. He rubbed the fabric against your skin. Cool and silky. 'Biased is the last thing I am.’ He frowned, putting the scarf back and choosing another.

'Oh, do I just fit your _aesthetic taste_?’ You grinned at him.

He paused to lift a dark eyebrow at you. 'No, but yours complements mine.’ He held another scarf to your face. At least the fifth he must have tried. He hummed in appreciation. 'This one. Brings out your eyes.’

‘The colour’s nice, but scarves aren’t really my thing,’ you said, eyeing it with skepticism. 

‘You’re going to need it,’ said Yumichika, folding the length of cloth over his arm.

‘It’s Summer in the seireitei, too,’ you pointed out.

Bright cloth flashed in the air, and then you were nose to nose with Yumichika. He gripped the ends of the scarf he’d wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him. The hard lines of his torso dug into you through the layers of your human clothing, and his voice, sinful and sultry, was pitched low, only for your ears 

‘You’re going to need it when I’m finished with you.’ He tilted his head and pressed a kiss against the side of your neck to drive the point home. There was a touch of dampness against your skin, followed by the faintest impression of teeth. The penny, and your stomach, dropped. _Oh_.

‘Fine, but Ikkaku isn’t tagging along this time.’


	32. Kotetsu Isane/Reader

The nurse frowned, lifting a sheet on her clipboard. She made a quick note, then tucked the clipboard under her arm. Her pink cap was pinned neatly in place, and her uniform was crisp and clean, but there was a tightness around her eyes, a downward tilt to her mouth. How many hours had she been at work? 

‘I’m sorry, ____-san, I can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.’ She looked you up and down, scanning for any more clues. ‘The pain is in your abdomen, but you have no temperature. I’m going to have to fetch my superior.’

You hunched over a little further, making sure to grimace. Hands pressed against your stomach, you nodded in a way you hoped was pathetic enough to be believable, but not so pathetic that they rushed you into intensive care. You were already wasting this nurse’s time. Unohana-taicho would be displeased if she found out. A very real shiver ran down your spine. Your hands and feet went cold. The nurse’s eyes widened.

‘Oh no, you look like someone just stepped on your grave. Stay here. I’ll be right back.’ She patted you on the hand, then bustled out.

It was only as she left that it hit you: she might fetch Unohana-taicho, instead of the person you’d really come to see. You stared at the closed door of the examination room, drumming your fingers on your knees. You stared at it as though you could summon the person you wanted to see by thought alone. Which, alas, wasn’t a power you possessed. If it was, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. You checked the bag you’d brought with you. Good. The contents hadn’t been jostled on the journey here.

The door handle twisted, and the door eased along its tracks. You froze, waiting for the sweet smile that would be the last thing you ever saw. The door opened further.

’___-chan? Are you all right?’

You breathed out. Isane entered, her face pale with concern. She dropped her clipboard on the small desk in the room and came straight toward you. Warm, smooth hands cupped your face, tilting it up to hers. You forgot to answer, your cheeks warming against her palms. Her hair was ruffled up like grey dove feathers. She’d been running her fingers through it from stress. There were bruise-like shadows under her grey eyes.

She was lovely.

‘Isane-chan.’

She pursed her lips, tilting your face side to side, letting the light catch it. ‘You don’t look like you’re sick.’

You gave a sheepish smile. ‘About that.’

Isane straightened, turning to pick up the clipboard with your notes on it. She rifled through. ‘The nurse told me you were having abdominal pain? Let’s have a look-’

'Isa-chan, don’t worry about that.’

She paused, and looked up. 'What? Why not? Honey, if you’re sick, I’m not going to just-’

'I’m not sick.’

Isane frowned. You could almost see the words trying to work their way through the fog of exhaustion, and the moment they sank in. Her lips pursed. Disapproval. Shit. You hopped off the examination table, reaching for her. She let you take her hand, but didn’t smile.

'We’re really busy, ____.’ The lack of the honorific might have stung, but from Isane it meant dead-seriousness. Her forehead wrinkled. She sighed. 'I came rushing in here. I thought you were seriously ill.’

Your heart sank. 'I’m sorry, Isane,’ you said. And you were. You hadn’t meant to worry her. Perhaps you should’ve gone with something less ominous than mystery abdominal pain, but then you could’ve been passed off to some other nurse and never got anywhere near your dear Isane. 'I didn’t mean to make you worry. I haven’t seen you for a week, and this was the only way I could think of.’

Isane rubbed the back of her neck, her gaze shifting off to one side. 'I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other, but…’

You bit your lip, nodding. 'I know. I should know better than to waste a medic’s time. I just wanted to see you for a few minutes.’ You reached up and smoothed her rumpled hair. It was soft and feathery to the touch. You missed running your fingers through it while Isane rested her head on your lap. You straightened the two thin braids lying on her shoulder. 'You’ve been working so much, and we keep missing each other. I’ve missed you.’

Her face softened. 'I’ve missed you too.’ She leaned down from her considerable six-plus-feet of height to give you a shy, soft kiss that had you running your fingers up into her hair, pressing against her. She pulled back, regretful. ‘I don’t have much time.’

‘That’s okay.’ You brightened, turning and picking up the bag from the examination table. ‘I brought you something that will make you forgive me.’

Isane’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, really? It’d have to be something pretty good.’

‘Excuse me, have you met me? You know it’s good.’ 

Isane’s mouth quirked up, a gleam in her eyes. Some of the exhaustion seemed to have sloughed off her. She tried to peer into the top of the bag like an excited child, but you whisked it away, pouting. 

‘Don’t spoil the surprise. Close your eyes.’

Isane rolled them, but she did close them. ‘It better be good, _____-chan.’

The “chan” was back. You were forgiven. Grinning, you held out the bag and told her to put her hands inside. She did. Her fingers sank, rustling into a whole bagful of hard rectangular blocks and strange, cool cylinders. She opened her eyes. Enough chocolates and iced-coffees and oatmeal bars to feed a horse.

Her eyes widened. She scooped up a handful and let them tumble back in, like someone sifting through precious jewels. ‘Honey,’ she said reverently, ‘have I told you how much I love you?’

‘A few times,’ you said, casual, ‘but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.’

‘ _I love you so much_.’ She took the bag, weighing it. ‘This is way too much for me to eat, though.’

‘I got enough for you to share with the other nurses. Can you apologise to the one who saw me? Didn’t mean to lie to her.’

Isane’s smile warmed you. ‘I will. You’re gonna be so popular when I show them this.’

‘Don’t let your taicho catch you with smuggled goods,’ you teased, tugging at her tiny braids. Another kiss and you let her go. You sauntered to the door, thoroughly pleased with the outcome of your undercover mission. You paused with your hand on the door, and looked over your shoulder to deliver the killing blow with a slow smile and a wink. ‘And if you’re home before I fall asleep, I’ll give you a massage.’ 

You were pretty sure you heard Isane whimper as you slipped out of the examination room. 

Mission accomplished.


	33. Hirako Shinji/Reader

Shinji Hirako folded his arms, mouth set in a toothy frown, as he faced down his nemesis. As a taicho, it was his job to face down Hollows. He was good at it. He dealt with the biggest and the nastiest of them with aplomb. As a father, it was his job to face down his kids. Good at it? Aplomb? Not so much.

'I know yer in there, Kentaro.'

Giggling sounded from inside the linen closet, as well as a suspicious rustling that told him the kid was unfolding all the clean sheets and towels. _Great_. You were going to be pissed unless he put it all back the way you'd left it. You'd been so proud of the damn linen closet after avoiding dealing with it for two months. Now Kentaro had put everyone back to square one.

A crash. A shriek. Giggling. Running, stomping feet that careened past Shinji's back and into the bedroom he shared with you.

'Seshiru!'

The door the bedroom slammed shut, quickly followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone jumping on the bed. Shinji stood in the hall, torn between dealing with one disaster and another. _Damn it._ He ran a stressed hand through his hair and immediately regretted it. He finger-combed his bangs back into place in the hallway mirror, then marched into the bedroom.

Seshiru jumped on the bed, his white taicho's haori flapping around her. She shrieked at the sight of him, bouncing higher. Where did she get her hands on that?

'Ay, cut it out!' he ordered, pointing at the floor in front of him. 'Get over here, kid.'

Seshiru stopped bouncing. She stood in the middle of the bed, looking at him with big, lucid eyes. Shinji waited for her to do as he asked. He'd put her to bed, read her a story, give her a hug goodnight, then deal with whatever mess Kentaro had created in the linen closet. He could control his kids. He would deal with this calmly and methodically-

'Baldy Dad!'

Shinji snapped back to attention. Seshiru bounded off the bed, past him. He got to the bedroom door in time to see her slamming her way into the bathroom and the sound of the lock engaging.

Muffled, from the other side, came: 'Baldy Dad!'

An evil giggle came from the linen closet. 'Baldy Dad!'

'Baldy Dad!'

'Baldy Dad!'

Shinji's eyebrow twitched. _Hiyori, I'm never letting you babysit my kids again. My wife is gonna kill me._ From the bathroom came the precise sound of many, many shampoo bottles clattering to the floor. He winced. _My wife is_ definitely _gonna kill me._

'Baldy! Baldy! Baldy!' Seshiru sounded like she was giggling herself into hysterics.

Shinji took a deep breath, and cracked his knuckles. He straightened his cravat, smoothed down his hair. Time to go to war.

He yanked open the door of the linen closet, internally winced at the bombsite inside, and scooped Kentaro up in one arm. The blond demon of a child squirmed and wriggled, but Shinji was much stronger than his wiry frame suggested. He held the boy under one arm as he went in search of the other miscreant.

He opened the bathroom door. It cut a swathe through an ocean of shampoo bottles, make-up, toilet tissue, moisturisers, and the kids' bath toys. _She's only been in here for thirty seconds!_ He looked around. The shower curtain twitched. Shinji's eyes narrowed.

Big, luminous eyes peeked out from behind the shower curtain, widened at the sight of Shinji. A second later, Seshiru exploded into motion. She dove for the door, white haori flapping. Shinji snagged her by the tail of it. He skidded forward several feet on a trail of spilled shampoo. He twisted his wrist, snagging more haori, and hauled her off her feet.

Under the arm she went.

As Shinji waded free of the mess in the bathroom, and consquently stumbled over the mess spilling out of the linen closet, an image came to mind of a fisherman wading free of the ocean with a great big wriggling fish under each arm. Gods knew, his kids were slippery enough.

He marched them down the hall. In Kentaro's room he dumped both of them down on the bed and pointed a thin, stern finger in their faces.

'Ya better both behave,' he growled, 'or I ain't readin' this damn story.'

'But, Daaaa-'

'Okay!' Shinji cringed at Seshiru's high-pitched whine, and held up his hands. 'Okay, damn.' He picked up the copy of the Seireitei Communication. 'Don't know whether to thank Ukitake or curse 'im for writin' this damn thing.'

He sat down on the bed, flipping open to the page where they'd left off last time. _Sōgyō no Okotowari!_ was a novel series in the magazine about some cute snot of a kid who went around saving villagers from evil. Shinji wasn't sure why, but his kids lapped it up. It was a good bribe when he needed them to behave.

He felt the kids snuggling into his sides as he started to read. Seshiru was still wearing his shampoo-stained haori. He'd have a great time explaining that to Momo in the morning.

Sōgyō was facing off against some bandits that wanted to rob the villagers, staving them off with just a wooden bokken and his signature phrase, 'I reject that!' The kids were growing heavier where they slumped against him, their blonde heads resting on his chest. Shinji turned the page, wondering whether Sōgyō would face off the bandits or get the tar beaten out him. It was Ukitake's writing, so perhaps the happy, upbeat ending was inevitable...

Several hours later, you waved goodbye to Momo as she split off to head for her own quarters, letting yourself into the house with your key. You smiled, ready to greet Shinji's complaints with half-drunken kisses. It was nice to go out for a night with the WSA. The living room was empty.

Entering the hall, you were greeted with a landslide of bedsheets, towels, and slowly-oozing shampoo bottles. From down the hall, a soft, familiar noise. You picked your way around the disaster zone, wincing when your tabi got soaked in hair conditioner, and peered around the open door of Kentaro's bedroom.

On Kentaro's single bed, Shinji lay stretched out, snoring softly, with a magazine on chest, the kids tucked in either side of him. Kentaro was still fully dressed, and Seshiru was wearing Shinji's haori over her nightclothes.

'Looks like the kids put _you_ to bed.'


	34. Ayasegawa Yumichika/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: contains blood/description of an injury.

This, you thought, was why you got through that expensive hand moisturiser so quickly. Washing your hands for the nth time that night, you could already feel your skin drying out, even beginning to crack in the folds. You dried them on a paper towel, throwing it in the trash.

Pressing your knuckles into your aching back, you straightened up. Everything was wavy around the edges, the fluorescent lights pulsating with harsh, tireless energy. How long had you been at work now? Festival nights were the worst. Long hours, drunk patients, and missing out on all the fun. What a wonderful combination.

'____-san, you've got one of the eleventh,' said one of the nurses, handing you a clipboard with their notes on it. 'Looks like they were in a bit of a scuffle.'

'Name?' you asked, shoulders slumping.

'Madarame.'

'Oh.' You rubbed the back of your neck. The third-seat wasn't so bad by all reports. He might actually just shut up and let you get on with what you needed to do. 'Okay. I'm on it. How long ago did your shift end? Five hours ago for me.'

The nurse huffed, and shot you a wry smile. 'I got drafted into a double shift.'

'Ouch.'

With your suffering suitably compared, a common pasttime in the fourth, you tucked the clipboard under your arm and made your way through the warren of halls to your next patient. The halls were alive with activity - nurses and medics running to an fro, groans and moans and a general clamour of complaints rising from the patients. Most of them were from the eleventh division, because they took the word "festival" as an excuse to get excessively drunk and brawl with each other and any poor bastard that happened to be nearby.

Zaraki-taicho was supposed to worship Unohana-taicho, or some said. Still, didn't mean he could always be bothered to keep his men in line. It'd be like herding a pack of feral cats with fleas.

Pretty apt description, you thought, pushing open the door to Madarame's room. He was leaning against the gurney, not sitting on it. Arms folded, jaw set. _Doesn't look sick..._

'Madarame-san, you're complaining of internal pain?'

He grimaced. 'Yeah. Figured I've got some cracked ribs. Took care of the rest.'

'What? How?' Eleventh division members never had any medical training.

'I just did, all right?' He wasn't prepared to discuss it any further with you, and since you'd been working seventeen hours already, you weren't prepared to press.

'Fine, fine. Let's sort you out.' You gestured for him to lie down on the gurney. You knew better than to offer him help. Damn stubborn alpha-male meatheads. 'So, what happened?'

Madarame's breath caught as you started prodding his ribs. 'Heard someone badmouthing my taicho. Tch. Just hurry up and fix me, would ya?'

Your temples were beginning to pound, but you started the healing kido to patch up his cracked ribs. ' _Fine_ ,' you said, your tone far from professional, closer to petty. 'Where's your friend? Ayasegawa? I thought you were a package deal.'

Madarame's jaw tightened and a muscle flexed in his cheek. 'He didn't want to come.'

'What do you mean?' you asked idly, not really giving a shit. If they'd had a falling out, that's their business. But, it kept Madarame diverted and bought you some time to put him back together without him bitching.

Madarame's eyes flicked to yours. 'He didn't want to be seen.'

'By a medic?'

'By anyone.'

You paused, looking down at your patient. You were good at reading between lines, and knowing what you did about Ayasegawa... 'He's injured?'

Madarame grunted. He was uncomfortable spilling this. He probably felt like it was some kind of disloyalty. 'His face. Pretty bad. Someone hit him with a bottle.'

Well, that explained why he hadn't come to the fourth division. If there was anyone obsessive about their looks, it was Ayasegawa. You wrapped a bandage around Madarame's ribs in thoughtful silence, which quickly turned to annoyance. Did Ayasegawa really think medics cared what he looked like? Was he too vain and arrogant to accept a little help when he was vulnerable? Actually that was probably it.

'Take me to him.'

Madarame startled, then winced when it jarred his still-tender ribs. 'What?'

'Take me to Ayasegawa,' you said, opening a cupboard. You took out the kit stowed away in there. There was one in every exam room, just in case. 'You'll have to flash-step us. I'm too tired to manage it all the way to eleventh.'

Madarame actually hesitated. 'You sure about this, medic? He's not in a good mood.'

'He'll be in a worse mood when he scars from lack of medical treatment,' you said tartly. 'Come on, I'm already on overtime as it is.'

That was how, five minutes later, you found yourself squinting in the pre-dawn light and striding toward the barracks of the eleventh division. Your exhaustion had turned into temper, and you were walking like a wolf hunting its prey. Even Madarame gave you a sidelong glance. You didn't care. Idiots. Meathead idiots. Ayasegawa wasn't going to escape medical treatment because he was being so precious about his face.

Even if you had to tie him down and force it on him.

'This isn't a good idea,' said Madarame.

'Oh, and getting into a fight was?' you said acidly. 'I've been at work for seventeen hours and I'm still cleaning up other people's messes. I'm tired and hungry and I've had my fill of temper tantrums. No matter how pissed Ayasegawa-san is, it's nothing compared to me.'

Wisely, Madarame didn't respond.

Ayasegawa's door impeded your progress. You knocked, hard, and waited. No answer. Madarame loomed behind you, arms folded. Like he thought you needed his protection. _Oh, please_. You knocked again. Again, no answer. That was it. You went for the handle, and the door slid open easily. The hallway was dark, save for a rectangle of warm, yellow light at the end.

'Ikkaku, I told you to-'

You strode into Ayasegawa's quarters, shutting the door in Madarame's perplexed face. His place smelled nice, especially for the eleventh division. Like lemon polish and beauty products. You could hear low, irritable cursing, like the hissing and spitting of a cat. The room at the end of the hall turned out to be his bedroom. He was hunched at a vanity table, blue-black hair clipped back from his face. A bowl of bloody water sat on the vanity, beauty products knocked aside. Shreds of bandages. A pair of tweezers.

Ayasegawa looked up.

_Fuck._

The entire left side of his face was covered in blood. His forehead was a torn mess of blood and skin, shards of glass glinting in the lamplight. His left eye was swollen shut, his jaw purpled with bruises. You'd seen worse, but the severity of it still made you pause in the doorway. His good eye flashed with anger at the sight of you. He got to his feet.

'What the hell are you doing here?' he demanded. 'Get out!'

The spell broke. You held up your medkit, ignored the chilly reishi in the room, and pointed at the chair he'd just abandoned. 'Sit.'

'Get the hell out!' he spat.

You moved forward, gripped his shoulders, and pushed down. Enough was enough. He thudded into the chair, glaring up at you as best he could. You pushed aside some of the clutter on the vanity table and laid down your kit. He'd been trying to pull out the glass by himself. There was a smaller bowl with three chips of glass in it.

'You _idiot_ ,' you said tersely. Fuck bedside manner. You were on a damn house call now, because this little peacock couldn't just suck it up and go to the hospital. 'Do you want huge scars?' You waved a hand at the table. 'This is how you get them. Tilt your head back. Let me get a look.' Glaring at you, he did so. You pursed your lips. 'I'll get the glass out, patch you up a bit. Stay there.'

Your nose twitched at the scent lingering around him. 'Are you drunk?'

His eye narrowed. 'Disapproving, medic?'

'Not really. Jealous, maybe,' you said, wry.

You changed the water and helped yourself to clean white cloth without asking. If he was drunk and trying to play doctor on himself, then he lost the right to protest when you took over. You washed your hands and wielded the tweezers.

'Aren't you going to force some needless painkiller on me?' he asked, tone dripping with dislike.

'Oh, I think all that sake you've had will do _just_ fine,' you said with grim cheerfulness, just as you pulled the first shard of glass free. 'Big _strong_ eleventh division boy that you are. You don't need _my_ painkillers.'

He settled into sullen silence, looking up at you with one suspicious violet eye while you removed the glass. The only sound was the clinking of shards into the bowl, the dripping of water when you swabbed away blood, and the creak of the chair when his hands clenched on the arms. The last shard was the worst. His jaw clenched as you worked it free, a grunt of pain wrenching from between his teeth.

'Almost done,' you said, slipping into soothing healer tones as a natural reaction to someone else's pain.

He said nothing.

You dumped it in the bowl and wiped the site of the wound. Summoning what little reishi you had left, you pressed glowing green fingers to his forehead. The swelling on his left eye subsided, and the skin began to knit together. Lips pressed together, you poured out a little more until the skin was reddened, but whole. He sagged back in his chair, hands loosening. Pale and exhausted.

'Not bad, Ayasegawa-san,' you said, rooting through your medkit for ointment. 'You didn't move a muscle.'

'I don't want scars,' he said, reaching up to his forehead. 'Not from a bar fight with some ugly rukongai toad. If I take scars, it'll be in battle.'

'Uh-huh.' You screwed open the lid of the ointment. The twelfth division had its uses sometimes. This stuff would have him practically unmarked by morning. 'Tilt your face up.'

Cupping the back of his head to steady it, you leaned over him to clean away the last of the blood dried in his eyebrow and the creases of his mouth and nose. His eyes were closed, lashes throwing long shadows over his cheeks in the lamplight. His skin was smooth and firm, his bone structure sharp and well-defined. His hair gleamed, and felt like cool silk against your hand.

_So maybe he has a reason to be a little vain. Doesn't excuse stupidity though._

You scooped up some of the white ointment. 'This might sting a little,' you warned, 'but it'll do its job. By morning you won't even be able to tell you got hit.'

His eyes opened, fixing on your face. His pupils were wide, darkening the violet around them into a deep, royal purple. Probably the alcohol, you thought, smoothing the mixture along the arch of his brow. You tilted your head. His gaze followed, moving slowly over your features. Heat flushed your cheeks. Determined, you leaned closer to see better and carried on applying the healing ointment, trying to ignore his slow assessment -judgement- of your hair, your eyes, your nose, your lips.

'Nearly done,' you said. You were overly conscious of the shapes your lips made as you spoke. 'Are you feeling all right?'

A pause. His eyes shifted back to yours.

'You're really quite pretty, medic.'

You almost dropped the rag you'd just reached for.

Um.

What.

'Ayasegawa-san...'

'I haven't seen you before.' His voice was low, considering. 'Maybe your beauty is best seen up close, where it can be fully appreciated. It's in the details. The shape of your nose, the colour of your eyes...'

Drunk rambling. That's all it was. Ignore it. T _ell that to my face..._

You dabbed at his face. Oh god, his eyes were so warm, glittering, so fixed on you. His pupils were huge now. Almost like... Nope. You stepped back, smoothing down the front of your shihakusho. He tilted his chin down, hair falling forward over his ears. You felt the prickle of his eyes on you as you cleaned up, taking the bowls and rags from the room. Washing your hands, again. You bustled back in. After this you'd report back to Unohana to be dismissed. Your bed was calling. And a snack. Ayasegawa was on his feet, examining his face in the mirror.

You reached for your medkit, only for a strong, thin hand to clasp your wrist. You looked up. Ayasegawa leaned in close.

'You did a good job,' he purred. Warm breath brushed against your face, smelling of flowers and sake. ' _Feisty_  little medic. What's your name?'

Your mouth worked but nothing came out, except, '____.'

'How pretty.' His mouth curved into a sharp smile. Ayasegawa moved faster than you'd expected, pulling you forward by your wrist. 'Just like you.'

'And you saved my face, too,' he added, bending his face close to yours, molten violet eyes half-hidden by thick black eyelashes, gaze sultry as midsummer. He dropped your wrist, cupping the sides of your face and tilting it. Thumbs brushed across your cheeks.

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, just before he covered it with his own. You stiffened in shock, hands half raised to fend him off, your mouth the subject of a sweet ravishing from the fifth seat of the eleventh. Your vision was full of Ayasegawa's silky blue-black hair, and stars.

His hand slid down your back in a long, luxurious caress, the way you'd pet a sleeping cat. Your eyes slipped shut, knees weakening, dazed by the sweetness of his lips moving against yours, the soft nibble of teeth on your lower lip, his sigh of satisfaction.

He pulled away, stroking a finger down the side of your face. ' _Hmm_...come back soon, little medic.'

He walked over to his futon and fell down on it, arm draping over his eyes, leaving you standing there, mouth open. Soft snores filled the room.

Ayasegawa had just kissed you.

'I'm going home,' you said, to no-one in particular.

Madarame was sitting outside the front door, waiting. He looked up expectantly.

'He's gonna be fine,' you said in a wondering monotone. 'He kissed me. He said I saved his face.'

Madarame glanced at Ayasegawa's door, then smirked. 'Good luck getting rid of him now.'

That snapped you out of your haze. 'What?'

'Nothing. I'll take you home, c'mon.' A meaty arm snagged you around the waist. Madarame deposited you back in the fourth division, muttered his thanks, and then vanished.

You stared in the direction he'd gone, before stumbling back to your rooms in the barracks. Your mind was fuzzy with exhaustion, confusion. Your mouth was still warm and tingling. You fell into bed to dream fitfully of purring voices and smouldering purple eyes...


	35. Shihoin Yoruichi/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I watched too much Ghibli.

The heat of the day had dissipated slowly, rising from the pavements into the night as vapour, leaving the air mild. Enough to enjoy wearing short sleeves and bare legs. Enough for Yoruichi to wear that thin white sundress she knew you liked so much, and a pair of gold sandals that gleamed against her rich brown skin.

She leaned back in the white wicker chair, draping her arms across it like a queen on her throne, head tilted back to enjoy the breeze. Sugar dusted the stainless-steel dining table where she'd opened a sachet with too much vigour. If you kissed her right then, her mouth would taste of coffee and sugar. Eating _al fresco_ had been Yoruichi's idea, and a good one. You watched the street traffic passing while she basked.

You rubbed a hand over your stomach, wondering whether having an appetiser, a main course, and then coffee and cake had been a good idea. You didn't give two figs about the calorie content, but you'd worn your good jeans. Here, "good" meant "tight and uncomfortable but so very flattering on your ass".

'I fancy ice-cream,' Yoruichi announced, apropos of nothing, and raised her head. She plucked the menu from the holder and flipped it open, golden eyes running down the options. 'Split one with me.'

'I can't,' you protested. Your stomach was already so strained it felt like you'd pop if you ate another bite. 'I'm gonna have to unbutton at this rate.'

Your girlfriend smirked, one corner of her mouth higher than the other. 'That's what you get for wearing such tight-'

Yoruichi's eyes went out of focus. Her head turned slowly in the direction of the street. Her nostrils twitched.

'Yoruichi?'

No response. Her gaze tracked something moving along the other side of the road. You followed her line of sight: a dark-haired man with a satchel and a plastic bag with a green and white logo that was vaguely familiar, probably walking home. Yoruichi exploded into smoke.

You yelped, throwing your hands up to protect your eyes. When the smoke cleared, Yoruichi was gone. Instead, a white dress lay crumpled in the seat of her chair. You looked around wildly. A black cat trotted straight across the two-lane traffic, tail held high, oblivious to danger.

'You have got to be kidding me.’

She’d abandoned you, with her clothes, to go chasing some man down the street. _Shit_. Normally, you'd gather her things and go home, but the way her eyes had glazed over... You grabbed her clothes from the chair and her sandals, and stuffed them into your bag. The cat had reached the other side of the road, weaving effortlessly between the legs of the pedestrians.

You pelted after her, narrowly dodging an old guy in a van, his dashboard covered in fast-food trash. You jumped the median, horns blaring in your wake. People veered away from you, wary of the nutcase who ran across the road like they had a death wish. Whatever. You shouldered through the evening traffic, looking for a speck of black fur. Meandering couples and office workers heading home obscured your view. Goddamn it. Urahara would never forgive you if you somehow lost his best friend to whatever had captivated her. You threw manners aside and started shoving your way through the crowd.

‘Watch it!’ one woman cried when your elbow hit her ribs a little too hard. She grabbed your arm, huffing. ‘You should apologise!’

‘Sorry, my girlfriend turned into a cat and ran off,’ you told her, with the most manic grin you could muster.

The hands gripping your arm disappeared sharpish. Fuck. How much time had the busybody cost you? You zipped down the street, cursing the jeans that dug into your abdomen. Your large dinner felt like stone in your stomach. _Damn it, Yoruichi. You really know how to pick the most inconvenient times._ If you caught up to her and it turned out she was fine, you were going to buy the cheap canned tuna for the next month. That’d show the ungrateful little furball.

There, across the street. The back of a black cat, trotting after the same guy as before, ears up and forward, tail straight except for the tip, which was crooked over like a question mark. A happy, inquisitive posture. You followed, intending to catch up and grab her by the scruff of the neck.

Until the man turned a corner, and she followed. They’d gone into a thin alleyway that sloped sharply upward. Steps had been cut into the narrow space. Goddamn it. You pounded up the stairs after them, only to lose sight of them again as the man turned out onto the next. This was like something from a stupid fairytale – following a cat to another dimension or something.

Then again, considering Yoruichi was actually a noblewoman from the afterlife with the ability to turn into a talking cat, that wasn’t too far off the truth. Not that you had any intention of following her to Soul Society. Was there something in that plastic bag that had caught her attention? Or perhaps the man’s reiatsu had drawn her in, though you couldn’t sense anything special coming from him. By all appearances, he seemed like a bog-standard human. A slightly shabby one, in fact.

A soda can crunched under your foot, skidding out from underneath you. You toppled, instinctively throwing out your hands. _Fuck_. You’d barked your knees on the edge of a step; your palms stung from catching half of your weight.

‘Shit.’

Dusting grit off your hands, you limped the rest of the way up the stairs onto the street above, knees protesting. Screw a fairytale, this was a slapstick comedy. An idiot chasing a cat chasing a man with a bag. The poor man probably had no idea he was the leader of this bizarre little procession. Yoruichi wasn’t going unnoticed. A pair of teenage girls pointed at her, cooing to each other how cute she was. Then they saw you, red, panting, scowling, and scurried away, shooting looks at you over their shoulders. Brats.

Unfortunately, in the time it took you to glare at them, Green Bag Man and Yoruichi had vanished.

‘If this is to make me work up an appetite for ice-cream, Yoruichi, I’m gonna tie a knot in your tail.’

Idle threats made you feel better, so you added a few more about putting her in a bell-collar, buying a cat litter tray, and giving her away to the shelter. Lucky she was out of earshot, or she’d vanish for a month to punish you. You jogged in the direction Green Bag Man had gone, peering up and down the side streets. _There_. Trudging up a steep hill, bag in hand, and followed by a trotting black cat. You took one look at the slope and whimpered.

By the time you reached the top, you were sweating and Yoruichi was halfway down the next street and…heading toward the train station. Okay, _enough_. Ignoring the cake that threatened to come back up, you put on a burst of speed, pounding after Yoruichi and her mysterious Man of the Alluring Green Bag. Green Bag Man had other ideas when he saw you jogging toward him. He scurried into the train station, ticket already in hand, and scooted on through the barriers. Yoruichi, of course, walked right under the turnstiles. You went to jump them to reclaim the little furball, when the ticket guard stepped in front of you.

‘You’ll need a ticket to get through.’

‘I just need to get-‘

‘Ticket or no entry.’

You pointed past him at the Yoruichi following the man down the stairs. ‘That’s my cat.’

The guard raised his eyebrows. ‘Got nothing in the rules about cats needing a ticket. _Unlike_ people.’

 _She’s people, all right._ Not that you could tell this busybody that without him laughing in your face or calling the police to report a drunk.

‘Fine, I’ll buy a ticket to the next station.’

‘A good choice.’

You fumbled for change in the pockets of your too-tight jeans and bought a ticket at random. The guard gave you a horribly pleasant smile as you let yourself through the barriers. You raced down the stairs after Yoruichi, feet hitting the platform just in time to see Ole Green Bag and his fuzzy stalker boarding a train. You managed to slip between the doors in the next carriage, just before they shut. The other passengers gave you sidelong looks, edging away. You caught sight of yourself in one of the windows and grimaced. Your face was flushed, sweaty, and you were breathing like a bellows. Your jeans weren’t gonna fit anymore after you were done chasing your errant girlfriend. You’d have lost ten pounds.

Moving to the end of the carriage, you leaned against the wall, peering through the windows into the next carriage. Green Bag was standing by the doors, scrolling through his phone with a pleasant, absent expression on his face. Yoruichi was perched on the seat closest to him, sitting prim and proper as she waited for the chance to keep following him. The other passengers were giving her puzzled looks, though several seemed amused by the idea of a cat riding the train. They had phones out and were recording or taking photos.

 _Don’t you dare change back into a naked woman_ , you thought. That was the last thing you needed. Sighing, you turned your head. The train had risen above street level; Karakura town spread out below in glowing map, each light like a small orange firefly. Your own face was half-reflected over it, a ghostly after-image.

The train slowed. You looked through the windows again. In the other carriage, Green Bag braced himself to step out. Yoruichi hopped down from her perch. You wriggled through the passengers standing by the door and got out just before they closed. So many close shaves tonight.

‘Yoruichi!’ you called.

The cat paused, flicked an ear in your direction, then bounded up the stairs after Green Bag. Green Bag, however, had other ideas. He stopped halfway up the stairs and turned toward you. His face was tired, irritated. 

‘Look, I don’t know who you think I am but I’m not this Yoruichi person. Would you please stop following me? It’s creepy.’

You stared at him, aghast.

‘You? No! I’m not following you!’

He gave you a flat look of disbelief. ‘You followed my exact route to the station, stared at me from the next carriage, and now-’

‘I’m following the cat!’ 

You pointed down at Yoruichi, who was busy sniffing at the bottom of Green Bag’s…green bag. Green Bag’s face turned sheepish. 

‘Oh.’

‘She’s my cat, but she’s been following whatever you’ve got in there. I was worried she’d get lost,’ you muttered, picking Yoruichi up. She fidgeted in your arms, apparently forgetting anything but whatever mystery lay beyond that green and white plastic.

‘Sorry. It’s catnip. I bought some in bulk for the cat shelter I work at…’

Well, that explained Yoruichi’s strong reaction. She’d been able to smell it from across the street and had followed it like a dog would follow the smell of bacon. Looking closer at the bag, you recognised the logo of the pet store where you bought treats for your incorrigible girlfriend. The man dug into the bag and pulled out a small package of catnip. He held it out, smiling.

‘Here, for all the trouble? And it’ll probably stop her from running off again?’

You took it with a tired smile. ‘Thanks.’

Yoruichi nosed the small packet in your hands, then took it delicately between her teeth and started to worry it to let the scent escape. Green Bag turned with a wave of his hand and started off up the stairs, pondering his part in your bizarre adventure. You hefted your girlfriend-slash-pet-cat closer to your chest and turned back to the station. You could catch a train to the station nearest your apartment, tuck in your stoned girlfriend, and get out of those stupid jeans.

Your fellow passengers shot you amused looks, sitting on the train with a cat draped across your arms in a drunken stupor, looking like you were about to fall asleep yourself. The night felt soft around the edges as you trudged home, yawning. The air was cooler. Yoruichi’s tail swung idly back and forth as you carried her home.

It was only when you got through your front door that you realised.

You hadn’t paid the restaurant tab.

_Oops._


	36. Sui-Feng|Soifon/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel-of-sorts to the scenario where you, you brave thing, asked Soifon out.

You were, quite frankly, an idiot. What the hell had possessed you to stumble onto the Second Division training grounds and ask out the second scariest woman in the Gotei 13? (Unohana-taicho was in inarguable first place.) The moment after you’d walked out of Soifon’s sight, your arms and legs had begun trembling so bad you had to convince passersby not to call the someone from the Fourth.

_‘No, really, I’m okay! I just have a date and a deathwish!’_

And that was how you’d spent the afternoon facedown on your desk, alternating between clenching excitement and heart-sinking mortification.

Luckily, being a shinigami meant that you didn’t have to struggle for something to wear. You weren’t brave enough to customise your shihakusho like some of the higher level officers, but you could change the colour of your sash and primp your hair a little. No amount of primping, however, would prepare you for facing down Soifon over a dinner table. That woman  _did_  things to your nervous system, like a cat raking its claws across harp strings - set everything jangling and out of tune.

‘You’re late.’

‘I-I-I…got l-lost…’

‘How did you get a position as a fifth-seat without knowing how to tell left from right?’ Soifon asked, narrowing her eyes. ‘Otoribashi’s recruitment criteria must be incredibly lax.’

Soifon had insisted the dinner happen in her private quarters. She was sat cross-legged at a low table, still wearing her shinigami robes and white haori. The room around her might have been sumptuous once, in the days of the Shihoin, but Soifon had stripped it of most of its luxuries. The floor however, was oddly warm beneath your feet and the bitter, leafy scent of green tea was soothing, familiar. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you said earnestly. ‘I’ve been really looking f-forward to this and I got nervous.’

_I still am._

Soifon stiffened at that, large grey eyes sliding toward you from under her eyelashes. She sniffed, tossed one of her braids back over her shoulder. ‘Take a seat. You look like a fool, standing there wringing your hands.’

‘Thank you!’ 

You scuttled forward to the other side of the low table, kneeling on the soft, plump cushion. Odd.  _Her_  cushion was thin, barely enough to shield her knees from the hard surface of the floor. as were most other sitting cushions in the Second Division. The Onmitsukido couldn’t let themselves grow soft, after all. Where had this one come from? 

‘Tea?’ Soifon demanded.

‘No, thank you…I-I mean, yes, please!’ You changed your answer sharpish when you saw her pretty face settle into a scowl. ‘Thank you.’

‘Fine.’

There was long moment of silence save for the trickling of water as Soifon poured two cups of strong green tea. She served it with graceful movements, until she noticed you watching. Her hands twitched and the spout of the teapot clunked against the cup, tea sloshing. She put the teapot down with a huff and pushed your cup toward you.

‘Thank you.’

‘Dinner will arrive in five minutes.’

‘Thank you.’

Silence.

You used the momentary pause of sipping at your tea to try and slow your heartrate using one of the breathing techniques Otoribashi-taicho was always talking about. He’d describe what you were feeling as your heartstrings being pulled, or something equally romantic. In your opinion, it felt like you were about to be sick.

‘Why did you request this meal,’ Soifon asked suddenly. 

You tried to answer and take a gulp of tea at the same time. You coughed and spluttered, nose stinging from the tea you’d inhaled. You clattered the cup back onto the tray and thumped your chest a couple of times. You glanced up at Soifon through watering eyes.

She was…smiling. Not much. A bare softening of the set of her mouth. A twitch in the corner. Was she laughing at you? Your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, but you found yourself relaxing nonetheless. It was miles better than her stony silence.

‘Because I admire you,’ you said, ‘and I… Well. I wanted to spend time with you. To get to know you, Soifon-taicho.’

She pressed her lips together, sniffing. ‘And how can I be sure that you’re not here as a spy to steal my training methods through pillow talk?’

 _Pillow talk?!_  Your face, if possible, burned hotter. 

‘Y-yes, that’s exactly it,’ you mumbled in disbelief, pointing to yourself. ‘Otoribashi-taicho thinks  _I_  am the one suitable to seduce information out of you. What with all of my… _wiles_.’

She narrowed her eyes briefly, trying to decide to take offence at that, then shrugged a shoulder. ‘Perhaps you have a point. You aren’t the most convincing candidate.’

‘Otoribashi-taicho’s idea of training is getting everyone to do katas to musical numbers.’

A strange look crossed Soifon’s face, rather resembling the expression a cat might wear if you grabbed it by the tail and dumped a bucket of cold water over it. Somewhere between horror and nausea. She opened her mouth, probably to demand to know if that was another joke, when the doors opened and a black-clad pair of servants knelt in greeting, then rose to their feet, bringing over two steaming trays of food.

Your mouth watered. Fragrant white rice in red-lacquered bowls, grilled and salted edamame still steaming in a wicker basket, vegetables and delicate cuts of fish arranged in artful little heaps and rolls, vibrant and full of colour. Your stomach rumbled audibly at the sight of all that lovingly prepared food. Far better than you could afford to make yourself. Soifon’s eyebrow rose at the sound, but she didn’t comment. The servants -or subordinates, you wondered- arranged the bowls and platters on the low table. You reached to move your cup out of their way, knocked it, and spilled hot tea all over your lap.

‘ _Hmmf_!’ You clamped your lips together, eyes wide. It _burned._

The servers stared at you aghast. Soifon frowned, then sighed. She made a curt gesture and the servers hustled forward, taking you by each arm and hauling you to your feet. Was this it? Had you screwed up the date so badly that she was having you frogmarched out-

‘Take ____-san to a private room. Fetch a clean pair of hakama and have those cleaned. Hurry or the food will get cold.’

She picked up her tea, closed her eyes, and sipped. An obvious dismissal. Before you could really register what was happening, you were ushered into an adjoining chamber, and there were hands fumbling for the ties of your hakama. The material was peeled away from your legs with brusque efficiency and your scalded thighs dabbed with a cool, damp cloth. The touch was calm and impersonal, but you still spluttered and tried to fend for yourself. Unfortunately, orders were orders, and you were redressed in what must have been under three minutes. You found yourself kneeling back on your cushion, blinking, while Soifon gave you a bemused look.

‘You’re clumsy and graceless,’ she observed.

‘So _definitely_ not a spy,’ you agreed dolefully, rubbing at the back of your neck. Your stutter was calming down. She hadn’t made any move to have you tossed out on your ear. Perhaps she found you amusing. ‘I’m surprised you said yes, actually.’

Soifon picked up her chopsticks and selected a morsel from the spread. ‘You, a third-seat, had the guts to ask a taicho to dinner. I was…intrigued, I suppose.’

‘And now, Soifon-taicho?’

Her gaze lifted to yours, steely and grey as ever, but not quite so cold. ‘You’re entertaining, if nothing else. It’s like watching a kitten tripping over itself.’

‘Thank you, I think.’

‘You are welcome,’ said Soifon, completely missing the sarcasm and tucking primly into the miniature feast laid out between you two. ‘Eat. You obviously don’t know how to feed yourself properly.’

You opened your mouth to protest -you’d been too nervous to stomach anything before making your way to the Second Division- but common sense made you reach for your chopsticks instead and fill your mouth with morsels of the most delicious food you’d ever eaten. So this was how the other half lived. You sampled some of everything, your mouth watering from the strong, balanced flavours, and were just about to go for the edamame-

‘Well?’ Soifon asked suddenly, tone tetchy.

Your chopsticks froze halfway to your mouth. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re supposed to compliment the food when someone serves you dinner!’

‘Oh!’ You set the chopsticks down to the side of your bowl and gave a polite, seated bow. ‘This meal is the best I’ve ever had. Thank you, Soifon-taicho.’

Her cheeks flushed. ‘A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.’

‘Not for food this good. I’m a bit surprised. I always assumed the Onmitsukido were supposed to eat bland foods.’

She glanced up, eyebrow raised. ‘And why is that?’

You fumbled for an explanation. ‘I…well, in case of poisoning your palate would be sensitive enough to detect it? And for self-discipline?’

Now that you thought about it, however, Omaeda went around eating greasy, salty snacks and spent time in bakeries and sweet shops all over the seireitei. Out loud, with the leader of the Stealth Division watching you with a vaguely amused expression, your assumption sounded childish. Like assuming they trained by meditating under waterfalls and wrestling tigers. _Although I wouldn’t put the latter past Soifon if that tiger happened to insult Yoruichi…_

She huffed, reaching for her tea. ‘Yoruichi-sama decided that the Onmitsukido would eat well as she did herself. It is a tradition I have continued.’

‘Omaeda-fukutaicho seems to have taken to it whole-heartedly,’ you said, thinking of the man’s chip-dusted shihakusho.

Soifon’s grey eyes glittered. ‘Although now you suggest it, perhaps I should restrict him to bland foods in order to “improve his palate”, ne?’

You paused for a moment. Then it hit you. Soifon had just made a _joke_. You giggled, covering your mouth to muffle the sound. The atmosphere in the large, Spartan room seemed decidedly warmer. Soifon no longer seemed so terrifyingly different from you. She was still a taicho, with the white haori and massive spiritual pressure to prove it, but, and it was rather startling to realise this – she was also your date.

‘You’re good company, Soifon-taicho,’ you ventured, smiling and shy.

Soifon glanced at you sidelong, her slender fingers wrapped around her cup of tea. She hesitated with it an inch from her lips. A tiny, brief flicker of a smile. ‘Your company is…adequate.’

Somehow, it was the best compliment you’d ever received.


	37. Byakuka Kuchiki/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sssssh, it's not quite December but I'm only a day early~

‘Why have you brought me to this…place?’ Byakuya asked coolly. He pronounced ‘place’ as though it was a synonym for ‘cesspit’. 

He gave the inside of the coffee shop a once-over, his thin eyebrows pulling together. Garlands of holly, dripping with fat red berries, and ivy twined around the low wooden beams. Stockings -red, gold, green- hung over the fireplace where an actual, real-life fire crackled. The air smelled of cinnamon and chocolate, peppermint and ginger. 

Humans filled the place to the eaves. They crowded small wooden tables or huddled around the fire to thaw themselves out. A long line snaked from the counter out the door. The pair of you stood near the front of it.

You smiled up at him. ‘It’s a western coffee shop. They decorate for Christmas every December.’

‘I know about Christmas,’ he said, a touch miffed by the suggestion that he didn’t know  _everything_. ‘I am not Western, so I still don’t see the point of coming here.’

‘Byakuya…’ you muttered. You took hold of his arm. He reluctantly allowed you to pull him forward in the queue. ‘I just wanted you to see it, and it  _is_ really pretty here.’

‘It’s…festive,’ he admitted grudgingly. He fondled the curly gold ribbon on a packet of tree-shaped shortbread. ‘Gaudy.’

‘Look at all these sweets,’ you said, nodding at the long counter. It was groaning with shortbread, chocolate coins in netting bags, slices of cake with snowy frosting and holly leaves, domes of moist, fruity Christmas cake, gleaming chocolates and an entire gingerbread house, complete with a little gingerbread family with iced on scarves and smiles. It smelled like heaven. ‘My mouth is watering! I can’t decide!’

‘That amount of sugar will make you sick.’

‘Thank you, Doctor-san,’ you replied with casual sarcasm. You were more than used to Byakuya’s bossiness by now. And just as content to ignore it. 

The long, quiet sigh from beside you was familiar too. You smirked. He was giving in, letting you have your way, since it only mildly inconvenienced him. His gloved hand settled on your shoulder. ‘Decide now so you don’t hold up the staff. They look rather beleaguered.’

Poor things, they did look rushed off their feet, zipping back and forth between coffee machines in a mad little dance, their green aprons dusted with icing sugar and coffee stains.

‘I’ll get a cookie,’ you said, pulling one of the crinkly plastic bags from the display. ‘And a hazelnut hot chocolate.’

‘Too sweet,’ Byakuya muttered. 

You just rolled your eyes, anticipating the festive flavour explosion. Rangiku was going to be so jealous when she heard- Plastic rustled. Byakuya had reached one long arm to the back of the display; he tugged a gingerbread man free. 

A grin blossomed on your face. ‘Byakuya?’ 

‘It’s spiced,’ he said stiffly, the deadpan look on his face just  _daring_ you to make a smartass comment. ‘It will be tolerable, with green tea.’

‘You come to a Western coffee shop, and you order  _green tea?’_

‘It is our turn to order.’

‘Oh.’  _Lucky for you, you old stick-in-the-mud._

The server took your orders, rung you up, and directed you to the end of the counter to wait. Your hot chocolate came with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Byakuya’s green tea looked positively bare beside it. 

‘Where should we sit?’ It didn’t like there was a free table. ‘Oh, they’re all finished…’

A group of businessmen, their plates empty save for crumbs, their coffees drunk, sat huddled around a two-person table. They looked at you two, looking at them, and glanced away guiltily. Loiterers.

Byakuya placed a hand on the small of your back, approaching them. ‘If you are finished, we would like this table.’ His voice had every scrap of authority he possessed as head of the Kuchiki clan and Sixth Divison taicho. His glare was frosty. ‘It’s rude to loiter when other people are waiting to sit.’

The businessmen scrambled to get out of there. They even cleared the table of their mess and left a fat tip in the jar on the counter - anything to get away from that glacial stare.

Byakuya pulled out your chair. ‘Sit. Drink your ridiculous confection.’

‘Thank you,’ you said, fighting the urge to giggle. ‘How’s the tea?’

‘Passable.’ He broke off a tiny segment of gingerbread and nibbled at it. ‘This is acceptable.’

‘High praise!’ You took a bite of cookie and washed it down with hot chocolate. Cream and chocolate crumbs stuck to your lips. You licked them away automatically. Byakuya paused in stirring his tea, eyes narrowing. You were too busy admiring the decorations above to notice. ‘Byakuya, look it’s-’

Your drinks were pushed aside as the tall noble leaned across the table to press his lips against yours. Your eyes widened in surprise. Cool fingers brushed the underside of your chin, then cupped the back of your neck. Your eyes slipped shut, a frisson of warmth running through you. Your cheeks were hot. 

He pulled away, discreetly licking his bottom lip. ‘Hn. As I thought. Too sweet.’

‘Byakuya…’

‘What were you talking about before?’

You pointed up. ‘There’s mistletoe over the table.’

Byakuya followed your glance, frowning at the dangling white berries and leaves. ‘A parasitic plant? How is that supposed to be festive?’

‘There’s a tradition that you’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe.’

He raised a single elegant eyebrow. Sighed through his nose. The tiniest hint of a smirk. ‘A foolish tradition.’

‘Right,’ you muttered, poking at the marshmallows bobbing in your drink.

‘I suppose there’s no harm if I indulge you.’

‘Huh?’

He leaned over the table again.


	38. Hitsugaya Toshiro/Reader

‘Why are you sulking?’ Your skates hissed against the ice as you slid to a stop in front of the tall, white-haired young man who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. ‘You are, quite literally, in your element.’  

Toshiro huffed through his nose, a stream of white vapour. With his cool, teal eyes and pale colouring, he looked like a Prince of Winter stepped straight from a child’s storybook. Except, most princes didn’t sulk.

‘This is not what I had in mind when you suggested ice skating,’ he said stiffly. 

Another gaggle of teenage girls zoomed past, their eyes fixed on Toshiro. Their giggles floated on the cold air. He winced, tugging his green scarf higher up over his chin.

‘Where else did you think we would go?’ You braced yourself on his arm as you leaned on the rink wall beside him. It was reassuringly solid. ‘Besides, it’s fun!’

‘ _Your_ idea of fun, maybe.’

‘Don’t give me that crap,’ you said fondly, smirking up at him. ‘I’ve heard Momo’s stories about you freezing the pond outside your grandma’s house back in the Rukongai and sliding around on it.’

He cleared his throat. ‘I was a child.’

‘ _Hmm_.’ You circled around in front of him, propping your chin on his chest. One of his coat buttons dug into your jaw. His scarf smelled like peppermint where he’d spilled some tea on it earlier in the adjoining cafe. Another black mark against the skating rink. ‘You agreed to come here,  _Toshiro-kun_ , because you’ve done nothing but work, work, work for the last few months.’

‘I didn’t realise it would be so public,’ he said, giving the couple skating backwards past you a look of chilly disapproval. ‘There’s barely room to skate, let alone hold a conversation.’

‘Since when are you chatty, anyway?’ you countered, giving his scarf a tug and getting a flat glare in return. 

You sighed, glancing around. Every young woman, and quite a lot of the men, in the vicinity was staring’at him, admiring this tall, stately person who’d stepped into their midst. 

Little did they know that ten years ago he’d been short and angry and addicted to hair gel.

The skating rink had featured in every romantic winter-based film you’d seen. Those movies promised hot chocolate and skating hand in hand and kisses in the snow. The rink was loud, crowded, the ice scuffed and scored by hundreds of skates. The fairy-lights strung through the rafters didn’t add much atmosphere.

‘What did you have in mind?’ 

For the first time, his expression shifted. A faint smile. ‘ _Finally._ ’

* * *

Everything was white, save for the sky, which was a deep, glacial blue. Snow formed humps around the banks of the frozen pond, forming a soft, powdery barrier. The trees, their trunks a stark black against the snow, had white lights hovering in the branches, like frozen fireflies.

‘Momo did those,’ Toshiro admitted, as he helped you climb down the snowdrift onto the ice. ‘I owe her a favour now.’

You finally got your feet under you, balancing on your skates. It felt different, colder, without the solid weight of your gigai around you like a heavy winter coat. Your breath fogged in front of you. The air was brittle and sharp with cold. The ice was smooth as mirrored glass. 

‘It’s beautiful…’

‘It’s better than that human place you insisted on dragging us to,’ he said dryly. He took your arm and pulled you alongside him in a slow circle of the makeshift ice rink. His skates glittered in the afternoon sun. You glanced down. They were made entirely of ice, moulded to his boots. ‘Momo assured me there’ll be hot chocolate and cookies waiting for us back at the office.’

‘Another favour you owe her?’ you teased.

He smirked. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, Toshiro-kun.’

‘You should thank Hyorinmaru, not me.’

‘I don’t think you’ll want me to give my thanks to him.’

Toshiro frowned. ‘Why not?’

Ice spray glittered as you skidded to a stop, skates scraping. Your breath fogged in the air. Toshiro blinked as you reached up and caught his face between your gloved palms. His huff of surprise tickled your cheek as you brought him down to your level. His lips were cold, but warmed against yours. 

He froze his skates right to the ice, steadying himself so he could pull you closer. His nose was cold where it nudged against your cheek, something you found unaccountably funny. He mumbled, annoyed by your silent giggles. 

‘Take it seriously,’ he warned under his breath. 

‘Sssh, Frosty, don’t ruin the moment.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice how little ice-skating there actually is... I fell over six times the one time I went.


	39. Ukitake Jushiro/Reader/Shunsui Kyoraku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting a holiday/festive market with the fellas. Leftover from December, heh.

The entire city square was aglow. Lights dripped from the roof of every stall and hung in long, sweeping strands above the streets, looking like curtains of starlight. Music from the live band in the gazebo provided a lively undercurrent to the excited squeals of children and the restless chatter of the adults, wondering if they’d remembered to purchase a gift for their mother-in-law or that tricky cousin.

The air was thick with the smell of chocolate, ginger, and powdered sugar, and toward the other end of the market, sausages, beef, sharp, pungent cheeses, and roasted chestnuts. 

Your mouth watered. Your eyes couldn’t take in all the sights fast enough. Everything seemed sugar-dusted and glittering. 

‘A little excited, aren’t you?’ The low, teasing voice issued from behind you. 

You glanced back over your shoulder. ‘I’ve never been to a market like this,’ you said, mock-haughty. ‘You’re one to talk, Shunsui. Jushiro and I had to pull you away from the liqueur stall like we were forcing you to abandon your firstborn.’

Shunsui’s face fell into a self-mocking grin, while Jushiro laughed, open and warm-hearted. The sound turned not a few heads, male and female alike. Gazes caught and lingered on the pair of handsome men. It didn’t help that they’d kitted out their gigai in tailored suits, black for Shunsui, white for Jushiro. Between the pair of them, it was like having an angel and a devil on your shoulders. 

Your gaze caught on a pyramid of chocolates, wrapped in golden foil. The smell from the stall was rich, heavenly. The woman behind it wore a green-striped apron with the company name sprawled across it in gold. She gave you a welcoming smile. 

Just as she was about to launch into a spiel of prices and options, something else caught your eye. A stall covered in handcarved wooden ornaments, so realistic they seemed frozen in mid-motion. You wandered over, almost in a daydream. Your fingers brushed against a tiny robin, its head half-tucked under its wing. The tiny feet gripped a little spur of wooden branch.

‘Do you like it?’

You glanced up to see Jushiro behind you, expression warm and inquisitive. ‘Oh, no, I’m just looking. There’s still a lot to see. I don’t want to spend all my money on the first few stalls.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah! Let’s go and… _oh, look…’_

You moved, like someone in a daydream, over to another stall. This one had piles and piles of silk scarves and little embroidered wallets - pastels, jewel-tones, metallics… It seemed as though they had every colour combination under the sun. The scarves billowed in the cool breeze, tempting, beckoning.

‘You’re like a kid in a sweet shop,’ Shunsui teased. Occupied as you were, you didn’t notice the green-striped gift bag dangling from his wrist on gold ribbons.

‘Don’t be mean,’ you said, gathering up a particularly pretty scarf and running it through your fingers. It was silk, but embroidered in velvet, with tiny mirrors and beads stitched on. ‘There’s just so much to see.’

‘We should stop for tea and something to eat soon,’ said Jushiro as he stepped up beside you. He exchanged a silent glance with his best friend, turning his hand over to reveal a small wrapped package in his palm. Shunsui smirked. 

You put the scarf down, nodding. ‘That’s a good idea. I think I saw a tea stand this way.’

Jushiro followed you, slipping an arm around your shoulders when it seemed like you might turn back to see where your other partner had gone. He steered you toward the seating areas. There weren’t many free spaces, but as luck would have it, he managed to charm a group of bundled up tourists who were nursing their empty beer mugs into letting you have their table. 

‘What can I get you?’ asked Jushiro.

‘Oh, um, let me-’

‘Not a chance,’ he said, smile as sweet as ever. ‘My treat.’

You huffed a little, amused. Jushiro could ride roughshod over you while still remaining a perfect gentleman. He never wheedled the way Shunsui did, but he always seemed to get his way nonetheless. A dangerous man. The amused gleam in his eyes made it seem like he knew what you were thinking.

‘Tea, please.’

‘Of course.’ He leaned toward you, lips brushing against your cheek. ‘With honey, I presume.’

‘Naturally.’

The eyes of every woman (and a good portion of the men) followed him across the crowd toward one of the stalls. Shunsui slid into the seat next to you. A heavy arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you snug into his side. He nuzzled into your neck, tickling you with his facial scruff. Giggling, you pushed at him.  _Buffoon._

 _‘_ Ashamed of me in public?’ he teased. 

‘Of course not. Just afraid the humans might rip me to shreds from jealousy.’

‘Right,’ he said dryly, tugging your woollen hat down over your eyes, amused by your outraged gasp. ‘Ah, the man of the hour!’

You pushed your hat out of your eyes in time to see Jushiro returning with a tray of steaming cups. Yours and his held tea, but Shunsui’s had a distinctly reddish cast to it, and smelled like an entire department store candle section. You leaned in, sniffed. 

‘Mulled wine?’

‘There’s no sake,’ he said, as if that was an explanation. ‘I’m not much of a beer man.’

Jushiro pressed the warm tea into your hands. It was rich, fragrant, sweet with honey. Almost like the lights and the smells had been liquefied and poured into a cup. Your gaze strayed from Jushiro’s face to the table. More importantly, the bags on the table. You blinked.

‘When did you stop to buy things? We’ve only been looking.’

Jushiro’s expression suddenly became perfectly smooth and innocent. He raised his eyebrows, as though puzzled. Shunsui buried his face in his mulled wine, since there was no way he could get away with that expression.

‘What did you buy?’ you asked, suspicious. 

No answer, just a politely puzzled smile. Definitely a dangerous man, that Jushiro.

You pulled the bags toward you. One was green-striped, with a familiar swirly logo in gold.  _What…_  A box of those gold-wrapped chocolates. A small object wrapped in blue tissue paper. You opened it to reveal the little carved robin, head tucked beneath its wing. The last bag had something soft and flat inside. You knew what it would be before you opened it.

The scarf spilled into your hands, soft and slippery, beads and mirrors clicking against each other. 

‘You…’

Jushiro’s smile was downright mischievous. Shunsui’s was smug. You felt a burst of exasperated affection for them. The pair of them seemed intent on spoiling you. They’d obviously been paying close attention to anything and everything that caught your eye, and by the looks on their faces, they were very pleased with themselves for their subterfuge.

‘Sneaky,’ you muttered, leaning up to kiss Shunsui’s cheek, then Jushiro’s. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, dear.’

‘Yeah. It was cute, watching you walk around like a kid at a funfair.’

You let them have their satisfaction, their amusement. The festival lights took on a sinister gleam in your eyes. Across the way, you’d just spotted a stall selling Shochu in large, round jugs. And another, further down, selling glazed tea sets. The moment those two took their eyes off you, it was time for revenge. 


	40. Ayasegawa Yumichika/Reader

‘ _You_  look  _exquisite_ today,’ Yumichika said, running the back of his finger down the side of your neck.

The touch tingled, for all that it had come out of nowhere. One moment you were eating your rice, staring, unfocused, at the sparring matches taking place in the main courtyard of the eleventh division, the next your vision was full of black hair and pale skin and Yumichika’s feline smile.

‘Huh?’ came your eloquent reply. You thanked your lucky stars there hadn’t been any rice in your mouth to spray out at that precise moment.  _Speaking from experience._  ‘Where did that come from?’

Silly question, really. Yumichika was given to dropping compliments whenever and wherever he pleased.

‘I was just thinking how Ikkaku is going to look like a boiled egg,’ Yumichika explained, his eyes gleaming in a way that made you nervous, ‘because he refuses to use the sunscreen I got him, so I looked at you to soothe myself. Loveliness is the perfect balm to ugliness.’

Ikkaku, and Renji, on one of his state visits over from the sixth division, snickered. Embarrassment curdled in your stomach. Did he have to do this here, in front of them? The pair of them were your friends too, but you had limits. Those two made fun of everything that so much as breathed around them.

‘Yumichika, cut it  _out_ ,’ you hissed, tugging on the violet sash slung over his shoulder.

Normally he would have grumbled at you for crumpling the carefully-arranged silk, but today he was having far too much fun to scold you. Strong, slender fingers closed around yours, carefully removing them from his clothing. He didn’t  _totally_  forget about his sartorial silhouette, no matter the situation. His fingers slid through yours, and you were tugged closer to his chest. Kisses pressed against your jawline, mapping it with his lips.

‘ _Yumi_ ,’ you protested.

Yumichika smirked, able to feel the sudden flush of heat through your skin against his mouth. ‘I don’t know why you’re embarrassed. You’re too perfect for me to resist.’

‘Don’t mind us,’ Ikkaku muttered. Lounging on the veranda outside the eleventh division barracks, he was the picture of indolence…and insolence. His bald head gleamed with sweat in the sun. The redness of his face was only partially due to the three empty ceramic bottles of sake sitting around his empty dish. ‘We’ll just watch you slobber all over her.’

‘I don’t  _slobber_ ,’ Yumichika snapped, irritated out of his little game by the suggestion that he was anything but elegant. ‘I can’t believe you’re sweating from the  _sun_. What are you, an animal?’

‘Even  _you_ sweat.’

‘In battle, or in bed,’ Yumichika retorted crisply, his gaze moving back to you on the last word. His eyelids lowered, his purple eyes turning molten violet. His voice dropped into a purr. ‘Blood, blades, and beauty are the only thing are worth exerting myself over.’

‘Sure you’re not just jealous?’ Renji asked. He was stripped to the waist, lying sprawled on his back in the shade. More than a few women of the eleventh division had passed by just to get another look at those tattooed muscles. His scarlet hair fanned about his head. ‘You’ve struck out the last two…’ He paused. Smirked. ‘ _Three_  times we’ve gone out drinking.’

‘Shut your fucking mouth,’ Ikkaku said, although there was no heat in it. ‘He’s embarrassing ____, that’s all.’

‘He’s not,’ you protested. You didn’t need Ikkaku to stick up for you. He wasn’t doing it out of any sort of charity, anyway. He just wanted a stick to poke Yumichika with. ‘You’re one to talk. Last night at the bar? You couldn’t just tell the story of the last time you got with someone. No, you had to  _act it out.’_

‘That wasn’t a story.’ Renji propped himself up on his elbow. ‘If a story took place long enough ago, it’s a myth.’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘Ignore them,’ Yumichika muttered, putting his finger under your chin and twisting your face around to him. ‘Don’t waste your breath on them.’

Renji and Ikkaku heard that.

‘Feeling the love, here.’

_‘Tch.’_

Yumichika paid them no heed. He had far more enjoyable things to occupy his attention. Who would choose to look at a trashcan fire when they could gaze at a field of flowers instead? He refilled your sake, fingers brushing over the inside of your wrist when he passed you the little flat dish. Fine. You’d let him be ridiculous if he wanted. It was like trying to scold a cat – pointless, and you ended up feeling like a fool.

That mature, taking-the-high-road mood lasted for all of ten seconds.

Something smooth and round bumped against your lips. Yumichika tapped your lips with the grape. ‘Open~’

‘You’re not feeding me grapes.’

‘Oh, I am.’

‘You are  _not_.’

‘Strawberries?’

‘No!’

‘I can feed them to with  _my_  mouth,’ Yumichika suggested with a wicked glint in his eye.

_‘No!’_

Behind you came the sound of quiet, wheezy laughter. Ikkaku had given up his sour mood to lie there and rock back and forth at your predicament. Even Renji’s shoulders were shaking. Oh, that was it.

‘Let me feed  _you_ , darling,’ you said hotly.

Yumichika’s face brightened with pleasure, his mouth opening to give some witty, flirtatious reply. You grabbed a handful of strawberries from the bowl and crammed them into his mouth, squashing them in. Juice dribbled down your wrist. His eyes were wide over the gobful of strawberries.

Behind you, Renji and Ikkaku  _howled_.


	41. Kyouraku Shunsui/Reader

Choosing sake is a delicate affair. There are many types, some finer than others, some sweeter, some designed to be served hot, room temperature, or chilled. Generally, the finer the sake, the cooler the temperature it ought to be drunk. Naturally, the purer the brew, the more the cost skyrockets.

You rubbed your thumb across your lower lip, eyes roving back and forth over the rustic wooden shelves. This particular sake brewer was little known, but his prices were enough to make a Kuchiki blink.

‘You sure you haven’t accidentally put the decimal in the wrong place, Kokori-san?’ you called to the wizened old man standing stooped behind the counter.

He gave a rusty laugh, used to your candour. You’d already spent a good hour in his shop, browsing and chatting. It was nice, he thought, having a pretty young woman in his shop, even if she haggled like a dog with a bone.

'My eyesight hasn’t failed me yet, young lady,’ he retorted. 'When it does, you might be able to pull one over on me. 'Til then, my prices are my prices.’

'If you’re charging so much, why is your brewery out in the middle of nowhere?’

'The land here produces a fine rice,’ Kokori said, straightening as though about to deliver a lecture he’d had to give many times. 'My prices are high because my blends are exclusive. How did you even discover me, hm?’

'Oh, well, a little birdie told me.’

Your little birdie had also managed to offload a week’s worth of paperwork onto you  _and_ got you to cover three of her shifts next week for the information. That, combined with the two hour rickshaw ride out here into the Rukongai countryside, meant that this sake better be brewed from rainbows and Tsukuyomi’s piss.

Kokori gave a long, rattling hum. 'Hmrph. Then you must know that we only produce the finest blends, using traditional, labour-intensive methods. We even use a fune to press the rice solids-’

You held up your hands in warding-off gesture to stop the coming justification of his outrageous prices. He probably had to explain it often, but you didn’t need to hear it.

One particular bottle caught your eye. Kokori stored his sake in round-bottomed bottles, stoppered up with cork and wax. This one had flowers etched into the white ceramic, and a red wax stopper. You picked up the paper label, tied to the neck with a length of twine. In Kokori’s spidery kanji, read the words  _Junmai Daiginjo-shu._

The price made your eyes water.  _Worth it. It’s worth it, to make the right impression._

'I’ll take a bottle of this one.’

Kokori shuffled out from behind his desk to inspect your choice. His wrinkled hands were steady as they drew the bottle down from the shelf, turning it over to inspect the date scratched into the bottom. He made a wordless noise of approval, nodding to himself, and carried it back to the counter.

'Someone must mean a lot to you,’ he commented idly, wrapping the bottle in a twist of brown paper and twine. He gave you a shrewd look, eyes twinkling. 'A  _lover_?’

You gave him a half-smirk. 'Hopefully.’

Kokori chuckled as he melted candle wax over the knot of twine and pressed his personal seal into it. 'I know my own sake, young lady. Invite me to the wedding, yes?’  
  
Somehow, you laughed as you handed over a month’s wages. 

* * *

Even a man with over a thousand year’s worth of tactical knowledge could only dodge paperwork for so long.

He’d put it off for three days, with the pressure of Nanao’s glare growing more and more potent. Honestly, the woman could’ve rivalled old man Yama for her killing intent. He finally relented when it seemed like his niece was going to turn feral and drive a pen into the back of his neck. The growling noises in the back of her throat were downright terrifying.

He doffed his straw hat as he entered the office, kneading his knuckles into the back of his neck. He’d been enjoying a nap in the sun, but his ponytail had wedged his head at an odd angle, leaving him with a crick in the neck.

'I’m getting old,’ he muttered to himself.

He approached his desk, a slow sense of horror dawning at the oppressively neat stacks of paperwork. They looked as though they’d been straightened with a ruler.  _Nanao-chan is making a point, I see._

He could feel the rest of the afternoon slipping away in a haze of boredom, wrist cramp, and papercuts. If he was extra unlucky, Nanao would dig up more documents he needed to sign, and he’d miss his dinner with Ukitake, too.

He rounded the desk, and paused.

A brown paper package sat precisely in the middle of his desk, the shape of a bottle obvious.  _Is Nanao trying to bribe me?_ he wondered, reaching out to pick up the bottle. He turned it toward him. At the wax seal, his eyebrows shot toward his hairline.

 _Kokori_ ’s?

A small, folded card sat underneath the bottle. With the weight gone, it lifted open, revealing a small, handwritten note inside. Intrigued, Shunsui picked it up. It seemed laughably delicate in his large hand. The note was written in a distinctly feminine hand, though the strokes were decisive and confident. He read, and his mood improved with every word.

_Sotaicho,_

_Some sake is too good not to be shared. If you’d like some company with your drink, I’ll be waiting under the dogwood tree in the Kyochi ornamental gardens._

_Yours~_

There was no name, no indication of who it was. They’d simply signed off ’ _Yours’,_ as though they were actually  _his_ , if he chose. Shunsui smiled, putting down the bottle to stroke his finger and thumb over his facial hair, dark grey eyes twinkling.

'Maa, little minx,’ he said, tucking the note into an internal pocket in his white haori. 'Let’s see what you brought me, hm?’  
  
Carefully, he peeled away the wax seal, untied the twine, and unwrapped the bottle. The ceramic was cool against his fingers. He let out a deep-voiced hum of approval when he saw exactly which sake had been left for him. Someone was  _definitely_  trying to get his attention.

He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out two of his finest sake dishes. He tucked those into the pocket along with the note.

 _Sorry, Nanao-chan,_ he thought as he flash-stepped from the office.  _You can scold me later._

* * *

An hour had slipped past almost unnoticed. The dogwood tree spread its branches protectively over where you sat, shielding you from the sun with waxy, star-shaped white blossoms and frill-edged, dark green leaves.

You didn’t know Kyoraku-taicho’s schedule well enough to be worried. He would likely go back to his office sometime this afternoon and discover the surprise you’d left for him.

Leaning back against the bole of the tree, you flipped a page in the novel you were reading. The words swam and squiggled around each other. The unsettled, buzzing sensation in your stomach made it impossible to concentrate.

 _Calm down. It’s a no-lose situation._ If he found the sake but wasn’t interested, he’d just drink it and you wouldn’t lose any face. If he saw you from a distance and wasn’t interested, he’d turn around and leave, no harm done. And if he  _was_ interested…

You buried your face in the book, breathing in the scent of paper and ink to calm yourself. If you were a teenage girl, you’d be rolling around in the grass and squealing.

It took guts, really, to throw a line to the sotaicho like that. The man was a known flirt, but when was the last time someone had made the effort to win his attention, instead of the other way around? You hoped the combination of intrigue, appreciation, and fucking good sake would lure him out and give you a chance to charm him.

Something brushed against your ear.

'Good book?’

You stiffened. Soft, wavy brown hair slid against your cheek. The deep voice rumbled through you like a distant thunderstorm. Slowly, the control he’d held over his reiatsu released, and it rolled out to blanket the area like a balmy summer night, prickling deliciously across your skin.

The sotaicho leaned back, those full lips pulled into a sultry smirk. Those lips had just spoken right against your ear. You stared, blinked, then shut your book with a slap of the covers.

He’d snuck up on you, using every scrap of stealth he possessed to take a seat at your side.

'Sotaicho?’

'That’s me,’ he said. 'Mystery woman?’

'That’s me,’ you agreed, trying and failing to keep the purr out of your voice.

_Kami, the things I’d do to him._

'You’re going to get me killed, you know,’ he said, expert hands working to remove the wax stopper and the cork from the neck of the sake bottle.

'How so?’

He pulled two thin, green porcelain dishes from inside his haori. He poured the first one, then leaned and pressed the lip of the sake dish to your lips. His eyes were dark, his smile  _warm_.

'I chose you over my paperwork,’ he said as he tipped the light, fragrant liquor between your lips. He watched you lick them clean, a glint in his eyes.

'Ah. Ise-fukutaicho. An efficient way to die.’

'Indeed,’ Kyoraku said, pouring his own sake and tasting it with a rumbling hum of pleasure. 'At least I get to pass my last hours with such good sake, and such… _appealing_ company.’

You laughed, and Kyoraku poured another drink.


	42. Muguruma Kensei/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request, a continuation of the Kensei masturbating in the shower chapter of my other collection. SFW, so it goes in here. 
> 
> Original chapter [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595224/chapters/24519642)

He’s running out of shampoo. He’s working out twice a day, just to get sweaty enough to justify showering. And when he’s in there, he lets his mind and his hands wander, consumed with thoughts of you, of touching you, claiming you.

It’s been going on for weeks, months, and his infatuation hasn’t even begun to wane. Quite the opposite. He seeks you out, making excuses to visit your division and catch a glimpse of you. Anything to feed the fantasy that’s eating him up.

A sweltering afternoon in summer is when he finally snaps. Or at least, his pen does. He blinks at the piece of plastic lying halfway across the room, slowly unclenching his fist. With the heat, and the kanji of dull paperwork swimming before his eyes, his mind had drifted, yet again, to you.

This time, his daydream had been almost innocent. He’d been coming home from a long day in the field or in the office to find you, already home from your own shift, napping on his couch. He’d imagined ruffling up your hair as he bent over you, calling your name in a low voice to wake you. Then he’d cooked for you, nagging you about napping right after work and how you wouldn’t sleep properly tonight. You’d laughed and retorted, challenging him to  _make_ you tired, and then…

Kensei gets up from his chair to retrieve the cracked half of his pen, then throws the whole thing in the trash. He pauses in the middle of his office for a few heartbeats, then storms out of it.

He knows where he’s going. Life is only as hard as you make it, and he’s been making his unnecessarily difficult for too long now. Pining after someone isn’t his style. He’s a do-er, a leader. 

Even if the thought of asking you out makes his stomach knot up the way facing down a Hollow never could.

Lesser shinigami scatter from his path. Everything, from his clenched fists to his stern face and the brisk way his haori snaps out behind him denote a man on a mission. He scans the crowd. 

 _There._ You’re crossing the courtyard of your division, blessedly alone, wearing a tired, distracted expression and carrying a packet of paperwork under one arm. His steps falter, but he’s a goddamn  _taicho_ , and he keeps walking. 

‘Hey.’

The gruff voice pulls you out of your reverie. Your train of thought had been scattered, trackless. What to have for lunch. How it was too hot. That your neck had a crick from sleeping funny. Mundane thoughts that didn’t prepare you for having a taicho looming over you, wearing a face like thunder. 

‘Uh… _Muguruma-taicho?’_

The last part came out as a startled yelp. What was the taicho of the Ninth Division doing here, staring at you like you’d spat in his protein shake? Wait. No. He didn’t have that killing intent you heard angry taicho were supposed to radiate, and his ears were distinctly…red. 

He said your name, cleared his throat, and said it again.

‘Yeah, that’s me. Do you…need something from me?’

Kensei is pissed, even if he knows it’s irrational.  _Yes_ , he fucking needs something from you. It seems bitterly unfair that he’s been drowning in you for months now, and you’re looking at him with such an innocent, perturbed expression. His words grind out between his teeth.

‘ _Dinner_.’

What? How are you supposed to process that? You glance around for a kind Samaritan to translate that. He sounds like he’s speaking the native language of boulders, not Japanese.

‘Are you asking me to go fetch you some food, Muguruma-taicho?’ you try, shifting the paperwork packet across your chest, using it as a sort of protective barrier from a superior’s ire. A psychological comfort, if not much else. ‘I have to report to-’

‘No.’ He cuts you off mercilessly. ‘Have dinner with me.’

The spark of understanding is like a burst of flavour on your tongue - unexpectedly sweet. You stare up at him. His jaw is set, so chiselled and sharp you cut your hand slapping him. His eyebrows are clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. Leather creaks as he clenches and unclenches his fists. 

‘You’re asking me on a date?’ you venture, blurting it out. Any longer and he looks like he might burst. 

Muguruma folds his arms across his chest, hands gripping his biceps, and gives you a curt nod. This is honestly so surprising, you don’t have the mental capacity left to wonder over the fact that a taicho, and a painfully attractive one at that, just asked you out. 

‘When?’

Muguruma unclenches, blinking at you. It’s a rare moment of naked emotion on his face, and it’s kind of sweet. His ears redden further, the colour bleeding down his neck into his white haori. He claps a hand to the back of his neck as though to hide it, clears his throat.

‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

‘O…kay…’ you say, your mental gears starting to stutter and stop as the full gravity of the situation hits you.  _A date. With a taicho. A DATE WITH A TAICHO. A date-_

Muguruma compounds this with the quicksilver flash of a crooked grin, then vanishes in a blur of shunpo. The paperwork tumbles from your arms, blown about in the wind of his departure. A fellow shinigami hurries over, puts a hand on your nerveless arm.

‘Hey! Are you alright?’

‘ _I’ve got a date with Muguruma-taicho.’_

‘…what!?’


	43. Muguruma Kensei/Reader - Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation from the last chapter. NB: If there's a fourth chapter, I'll probably move this into its own separate fic with the smut parts. Just need to think of a title...
> 
> Thank you for the sweet comments and the requests for more. <3

The heat leavened off as the afternoon waned. Evening was cooler, the sky a clear, pale violet, deepening around the edges. The clouds were underlit with fiery pink. A cool breeze purled against your face as you finally stepped outside; you sighed, relieved. 

‘Good luck!’ two of your colleagues singsonged as they passed. 

‘Oh, be quiet,’ you muttered, trying and failing to hide a grin. 

Ah. There it was. The low, background static of a taicho’s reiatsu. You were so used to your own taicho’s that you didn’t even notice it anymore unless it flared, but with Muguruma-taicho, it felt like the electromagnetic crackle of a storm in the distance. 

 _What am I getting myself in for?_  You knew Muguruma-taicho by sight - he seemed to be around your division rather more often than necessary. You paused mid-step.  _Was that because of me!?_ You weren’t arrogant enough to assume you were the sole cause of his presence, but you’d felt his gaze linger on your face more than once. He always seemed…dissatisfied when you greeted him. You’d put it down to his gruff personality, but perhaps it was because he’d wanted  _more_.

You left the the gated perimeter of your division, stepping into a main street. A tall, broad figure leaned against the wall opposite, arms folded across his chest, one knee bent, foot braced back against the wall. 

It was hard to describe the feeling in your chest, butterflies were so overdone. It was more like the shaky, electrical sensation you get in your limbs when you’re startled awake. 

‘Muguruma-taicho,’ you called.

His head swung toward you. He put his foot down and unfolded his arms, and for a moment you both just stood there, looking at each other. 

Finally: ‘Hey.’

‘Sorry, did I keep you waiting?’ 

‘Nah,’ he said, gruff. ‘You’re fine. You ready to go?’

The question was rhetorical, since he didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed away from the wall, striding off down the street. His back was rigid, his hands half-clenched into fists. You frowned. Was he pissed at you? The date had only just started, and it wasn’t your fault if you were nervo-

 _Oh_.

A little smile teased the corners of your lips. You caught up to the taicho, putting one hand on his forearm. He went stone-still at the contact, his gaze sliding around to you. A muscle flexed in his jaw.  _Yep. Definitely nervous._

‘I can’t keep up with you if you walk that fast,’ you pointed out, keeping your hand settled lightly on his wrist. ‘Are we late for the reservation?’

A grunt. ‘No, we’ve got time.’

‘Good,’ you said, smiling up at him. 

His eyebrows twitched together into a frown, like he was trying to figure you out. A moment later, he let out a huff. He pulled his arm from your touch. You had enough time for a brief flicker of disappointment before a large, warm hand pressed against the centre of your back. The touch burned through all the layers of your shihakusho; you broke out in goosebumps.

‘Don’t dawdle too much. If we lose the table, I’ll be pissed.’

* * *

‘Oh, come  _on,_  there’s no way you haven’t seen  _Die Hard._ You spent a hundred years in the world in the living and you didn’t see the number one macho movie? Not even once?’

‘Shinji and Rose always got to choose the film,’ Muguruma said, shrugging his massive shoulders. ‘Unless you’re into black and white talkies or musicals, you learn to live without.’

He gestured with his chopsticks at your plate of tempura, frowning.

‘Eat it while it’s hot. It’s good shit here, don’t waste it.’

‘Right, right.’ 

You picked up some of the shrimp tempura and popped it into your mouth. The flavour unfurled over your tongue; you let out a hum of pleasure, quickly picking up another piece. Muguruma had paused in his own eating, brown eyes regarding you from under lowered brows. You licked your lips; his gaze slid down to your mouth.

‘Told you,’ he said. 

‘I’ll never doubt your recommendations again,’ you said, smiling at him. 

The conversation had been stilted at first, but when you asked him what you should eat, he’d taken the menu from your hands and pointed out all the good dishes. From there, things had flowed to cooking, to his life in the world of the living, your favourite foods, your friends and family in the Soul Society.

There was something about the way he ignored everything around him, paying you the same rapt attention he might a training drill, or an important piece of paperwork. He was still gruff, still stern, but that focus…it made warmth squirm in your stomach. 

‘So…why did you ask me to dinner?’ you asked, tentative. 

Muguruma frowned, somewhat irritated. ‘Why d’you think?’

‘No, I mean…why would you be interested in me? You’re a taicho, and I’m just, well,  _me.’_

You waved a hand at yourself, as if the deficit should be obvious. 

‘ _Tch_.’

Muguruma reached across the table. His knuckles brushed down your cheek as he ran a stray lock of hair between his fingers. He tucked it behind your ear. The touch drew the breath out of you in a slow exhale. Your cheek tingled for long seconds after he leaned back.

‘I like seeing you around. Figured this was the more convenient way to do it.’

* * *

‘Muguruma-taich _mmf_ ~’

The end of your sentence was cut off by a heated kiss, and strong hands running up your sides, grasping, pulling you closer. You melted into it, your lips already swollen from all the others he’d laid on you. You’d barely had time to suck in breaths between deep, dominating kisses. 

He pressed you harder into the alleyway wall, then thought better of it, grasped the backs of your thighs, and hauled you up into his arms. Your legs fit snug around his waist. Now, bracing you against the cool stone wall, he could devour you properly. Lips and teeth and  _tongue._

‘Mugu- _mmm-_ Muguru-’

He pulled his mouth from yours, his voice a deep and heavy with desire. ‘Call me Kensei.’

 _‘Kensei~_ ’

Pinned like a butterfly, you grasped and groped at the man, stroking his arms his chest, the back of his neck as you pulled him closer. His soft, shorn hair tickled your palms as you encouraged him on. He hadn’t been able to wait more than five minutes after you left the restaurant before he spirited you away into an empty side-street, desperate to get his hands on you.

He ducked his head under your chin, nuzzling your collar out of the way and sucking at the soft skin there. Your fingers tightened in his haori, a faint moan leaving your throat. 

His ear piercings brushed against your fingertips. Ingruigued, you leaned forward, nipping at the shell of his ear. Your tongue stroked against one of the piercings. There was a growling sound in the back of Kensei’s throat. 

He pulled away abruptly, setting you down on your feet. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. 

‘ _Che_. Shit. Better not get too carried away. This isn’t the place.’ 

He avoided looking at you, staring off down the street. Trying to compose himself. His ears were red again. 

‘No?’ You touched your swollen lips, smirked. ‘Then where  _is_  the place.’

Kensei’s gaze snapped back to you. His mouth kicked up at one corner - a roguish look.

‘C’mere, and I’ll show ya.’


End file.
